


Beautiful Disaster

by ladydurin_x



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydurin_x/pseuds/ladydurin_x
Summary: Martenya Flowers has very important role to play in the war being raged between the Lannisters and the Starks. The only problem is she isn't entirely sure what side she's on anymore.





	1. I Don't Know What She's After

Whenever Cersanne’s parents called her for a discussion it was bad news.

Every single time. Without fail; Walder’s dog had died and they must keep it a secret, Cleos and Jeyne were visiting, Tion had broken his wrist.

Usually, however, Cersanne wasn’t summoned alone.

Apprehension made her stomach flip as a guard opened the door to her father’s study. He was such a small man, and the giant desk he sat behind did nothing to aid this fact. Especially when he sat next to her giant mother. Sometimes Cersanne wondered if she was truly related to either of them. Then she caught sight of her golden Lannister hair in a reflection. Whatever the truth of her parentage, whatever her last name; she was a Lannister. The sunlight was bouncing off her father’s bald little head as he turned to her.

A tiny smile flickered across his mouth before her mother stood, quickly extinguishing anything resembling pleasantries.

“Let’s have a proper look at you, daughter.”

Cersanne stepped forward, turning slowly as her mother silently requested, spiralling her index finger a few times.

“Shapely enough and I hear she’s flowered.”

Cersanne blushed.

“She’s always been the most attractive of our children, Emmon. Don’t you remember, when she was still at the breast your father himself predicted it. Said she’d be the prettiest girl in the Lannister family since my niece was born.”

Cersanne blushed again. Her mother had always been slow with compliments. The praise pleased her almost as much as it made an unease grow within her.

“You are to go to King’s Landing, Cersanne.”

And there it was. All the confirmation she needed.

Her stomach knotted again. She blinked.

“You have been requested by the Queen herself.”

The words gave Cersanne pause. It had been years since she’d last been to the capital. She couldn’t remember the occasion, just hating the hustle and bustle.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. She’s beautiful but almost as dim-witted as you, Emmon.” Her father made no move to defend himself. Cersanne supposed after so many years of being beaten down by her mother that he’d just given up.

“She has a task for you, one of the utmost importance to securing the future of our family. All you have to know for the time being is that we have given our approval and you will not let us down.”

* * *

 

Cersanne looked back at her home, a heavy weight on her heart as she turned away.

Something in the back of her head told her she would never see the place again. The thought didn’t make her as sad as she’d anticipated. She supposed she would miss her parents, or at least that it was expected she would. She couldn’t be sure.

Even so, there was something about Casterly Rock that had never felt like home to her. She just wished she knew what it was. Perhaps it was the hushed awe with which the common folk talked about it, or rather those who inhabited it. Hearing them always made Cersanne roll her eyes. If only they knew the truth about those who lived there.

The Rock had always intimidated her. She had heard talk that the place was near three times the size of The Wall that her cousin Tyrion so longed to see. Too large, in Cersanne's opinion. Not that anyone had ever asked, or even cared what she thought. Everything she was looking at made her glad to be leaving; the craggy rock, the inhabitants, the history. It was too much. With one, final, lingering glance she said goodbye to the only home she had ever known and steeled herself for whatever awaited her in King’s Landing.

If she ever made it that far.

The road to the capital was long and treacherous. She had heard tales; from both Cleos and other, more reliable, sources of the dangers that awaited those that made the journey. As a child, desperate to escape the stifling tension of Casterly Rock, the idea had seemed exciting. Now, as a near grown woman, who was not so naive as her mother seemed intent on believing, the idea was far less compelling.

Her guard, Simon, appeared by her side. A man that had been by her side since she was toddling round the castle. His hair was far greyer now than it had been then, and he must have been closer to sixty than the forty he had always claimed since Cersanne had first found the courage to ask on her ninth Nameday. Even so, he remained strong as an ox and fiercely loyal to her and her family. His presence was at once comforting and jarring - he made the whole thing seem real. “Are you ready, My Lady?”

She nodded once, nudging her horse, urging them onwards.

* * *

 

The ride to King’s Landing, though long and exhausting, was, to her combined relief and surprise, not half as dramatic as she had feared. In fact, it had been almost completely uneventful. Sure, there had been some beggars but nothing more dramatic than that man who had thrown himself in front of her horse, injuring neither himself nor the steed, thank the Gods. Even so, Cersanne breathed a sigh of relief as she urged her horse forward, through the grimy streets of the Capital.

The smell was the first thing that Cersanne noticed.

Casterly Rock always smelled of the sea it sat beside. Salty, rough and dangerous - much like the man who sat as it’s Lord.

Though King’s Landing overlooked Blackwater Bay there was no such familiar scent. Instead, the Capital smelt of what Cersanne could only assume was human waste. The smell was almost matched by the dirt and beastliness of the city itself. It wasn’t half as impressive as any other city Cersanne had encountered. In truth, Cersanne could think of no other word to describe it than ugly. Truly ugly.

She was glad to note that they had almost reached the Red Keep she recognised only from her mother’s stories. It was as the imposing sight came into view that a vice-like anxiety gripped her stomach. Since her parents had summoned her all those weeks ago, no one had deigned to tell her why she was here. Why Cersei, who had never taken to her, of all people had requested her presence. Knowing her cousin, it couldn’t mean anything good.

“My Lady?” The gruff, though surprisingly gentle, voice of her guard pulled her from her reverie.

“What is it, Simon?”

“There’s been a change of plans. You are to go to straight to The Queen.”

Cersanne paused.

She couldn’t help but feel she was being snuck into the Red Keep like a criminal. Or worse. “Very well, Simon. Take me to her.”

She tried to keep her voice calm. Maybe Cersei just wanted to check on her after such a long journey. Cersanne swallowed down a pained laugh. Such a thing required a caring heart. Cersei’s heart didn’t seem to beat for anyone other than her children. Or her twin brother, Jaime. Not that Cersanne listened to those particular rumours. She shook all such thoughts from her head. They did her family no credit and Cersei had always been surprisingly good at reading what her younger cousin was thinking. It was a strange talent in someone who had never paid her much attention, only really deigning to acknowledge her existence in order to sneer at the idea of Cersanne ever living up to the belief that she would be as beautiful as her cousin before her.

* * *

 

An hour or so later; after Cersanne had bathed and made herself look at least somewhat presentable, even allowing her handmaid to torture her hair into one of the Southern styles that she had always hated but Cersei favoured, Cersanne found herself sitting in the Queen’s personal chambers. She sat with her hands crossed in her lap. Lacing and unlacing her fingers as she waited of her cousin to arrive. The urge to snoop was almost overwhelming. She had never thought herself to be particularly nosy, but her cousin had always been something of an enigma.

Someone to look up to and perhaps emulate, but not someone she should desire to know beyond the expected familial closeness or the respect afford to the Queen.

“Cousin.”

Cersanne turned slowly as she stood, taking in a shallow breath. She curtsied so prettily that her septa would have cried had she been there, smoothing her dress as she stood, finally meeting her cousin’s eyes. Wide, dark eyes met narrowed emerald ones.

“Your Grace.”

Cersei had always been the most strikingly beautiful woman Cersanne had ever seen. Her golden, Lannister hair was pulled into a harsh Southern style that somehow flattered her beauty even further whilst her slender figure was hugged by a scarlet gown that only added to her graceful appearance. As Cersanne took in her cousin’s beauty she felt those emerald, Lannister, eyes on her, appraising her.

“It has been entirely too long, Cersanne, but there will be time for pleasantries later. Sit, little one.”

Cersanne nodded, taking her seat hurriedly.

“I suppose you want to know why you’re here?”

Again, Cersanne nodded meekly. Cersei smiled, a smile that would have looked comforting on anyone else, but somehow, on her cousin managed to look cruel.

She clicked her fingers in the general direction of one of her handmaids before gesturing to the empty goblets in front of them. “Wine.”

The handmaid didn’t ask Cersanne before filling her goblet. Cersanne frowned. She had never much liked the taste but knew that turning it down would only fuel her cousin’s disdain.

“As I’m sure you must be aware by now, we are at war.” She paused, as if considering her wording before sniffing in contempt and taking another long sip from her goblet. “At war with the eldest Stark pup.”

Cersanne nodded, trying not to roll her eyes at the animal terminology. The noble obsession with the images on their sigils had always seemed ridiculous to her. She supposed she might think differently if she was a proper Lannister, a lion, rather than a Frey.

“My guard filled me in as best he could during the journey, yes.”

According to Simon, Robb Stark had taken great offense at the imprisonment of his father, Lord Eddard Stark, after the death of the King. Cersanne couldn’t help but feel for Robb Stark. He was only her age and she couldn’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t have reacted just the same in his situation. Not that she would dare voice this to Cersei, or even Simon. Her loyalty, even the sympathy in her own mind, had to be to the Lannisters, her family, before all others.

“Your weasel of a grandfather seems set to give that boy safe passage through his land. Robb Stark is a child playing at being King.”

Cersanne sat listening silently. Still not sure quite what this had to do with her. She drank slowly from her goblet, trying not to wince at the harsh taste of its contents.

“I suppose you wonder what this has to do with you.”

Cersanne blushed. “I - yes.”

Cersei smiled, looking entirely too much like the cat that got the cream. “I have a very important task for you. I need you to go into the Stark camp. Befriend him. Report back to us.”

The implication hit Cersanne like a tonne of bricks.

“You want me to seduce him?”

Cersei scoffed. “I would never ask you to do something like that. However, if things developed that way. Well, that is you decision.”

Cersanne was disgusted. How could her parents have agreed to this? They had implied they knew what they were agreeing to when they sent her to King’s Landing. The thought was too much.

“My honour. I’d be ruined. No one would want me for a wife. I’d be spoiled goods.”

Cersei laughed harshly silencing Cersanne immediately. “No one would know, stupid girl. Do you think we would send you in with your real name? You will go about your task under the name Martenya Flowers. You will be a bastard from The Reach. And once it was over, you’d be married off to a suitable lord from a good family with land.”

Cersanne sighed. Any objection she made would surely fall upon deaf ears. Her parents had already agreed and there was no way that Cersei would have summoned her to King’s Landing without the approval of Tywin. “When do I leave?”

Cersei smiled, a genuine smile this time. “Soon. You’ll speak to my father first, he will let you know what he expects from you. Then you will be taken to the Stark encampment however he deems appropriate. You have nothing to worry about, Cersanne. We have spies within the Stark camp, no harm will come to you. That I can promise.”

“Very well, if it is what is required of me.”

“It is.”

* * *

 

Cersanne walked through Tywin’s camp frowning. It had been almost a month since Cersei had first informed her of the plan. She still had serious reservations about having agreed to her family’s plan. The idea of being used like a common whore to get information from Robb Stark made her feel physically sick.

From what she knew of the eldest Stark child, he was similar to his father, noble, kind and stubborn. Cersanne hoped this was the side of him that she would experience, maybe she could convince someone like that to stop the foolish war before any more people were killed. However, Cersei’s appraisement of him was stuck in her head; a foolish boy playing at being king with no thought of the cost to others. If he had waited to find out the truth of his father’s imprisonment there may have been no need for war at all.

Cersanne didn’t know what to think. The two people she had heard described seemed so different that she couldn’t connect the two at all in her head.

“Of all the stupid foolish things you’ve done these past months Willow!”

The muttering pulled Cersanne from her thoughts as a girl, perhaps a few moons older than her hurried past, grumbling to herself. “Excuse me?”

The girl pulled up short, turning to Cersanne with a shocked expression.

“Oh!” She curtsied sloppily. “I’m sorry, My Lady.”

“Is everything okay?”

The girl shook her head, her wild, red hair whipping around her face. “I was horribly bored so I stepped out the tent, I know I wasn’t supposed to, and now I can’t find it.”

Cersanne frowned. The idea of this girl wandering around the camp unattended worried her. Cersanne herself was protected by her the very real fear her uncle created in the troops. By the look of the girl in front of her, she had no such connection to protect her from the attentions of the men.

“I’ll help you find it. You shouldn’t wander the camp alone.”

She let her meaning hang in the air for a moment.

“I’m Martenya.” It had seemed like a perfect moment to try out her new identity. This girl didn’t know who she was and would probably never see her again. She needed to get used to being Martenya before she slipped up in front of Robb. What she hadn’t expected was for the name falling from her lips to feel so natural. So right. It was as if she had always been Martenya. As if she had always been meant to be her. The thought unsettled her almost as much as it relieved her.

“Willow.”

“A pleasure. Do you know which direction the tent is in?”

Willow blushed slightly. “I am with a person of rank.”

Immediately understanding washed over Cersanne. _Tyrion_. It had to be. No other person of rank would risk being caught with a woman in their tent. She didn’t like to think of Tywin’s reaction to finding out about this girl standing before her.

“Tyrion Lannister, I presume?”

Willow nodded, looking almost embarrassed. “Yes.”

Cersanne smiled, waving away any potential explanation the girl might attempt.

“Conveniently enough, I was on my way to Tywin’s tent. Tyrion’s can’t be too far from it.”

Willow smiled her thanks, gladly falling into step with Cersanne as they headed back in the direction from which Willow had come.

“If Tywin sees me…”

Cersanne shook her head. “I can come up with plenty of excuses. Besides, Tywin’s so focused on winning this war, I'm sure he'd hardly notice you/.”

Cersanne’s voice didn’t sound convincing to her own ears but Willow nodded, clearly placated enough to stop fussing with her hair. It wasn’t a long walk and soon enough Cersanne heard Willow sigh with relief.

“It’s that one.”

Cersanne nodded, looking in the direction Willow was pointing.

“You must come inside. Tyrion has the best wine in the camp.”

“I’m sure he does.” Cersanne allowed Willow to lead her into the tent, grateful for the continued distraction.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat in the tent, Willow excitedly telling Cersanne of all she had encountered since meeting Tyrion and of all the drama during their stay in The Vale.

“I’ve been talking for hours! You’ve barely told me anything about you, Martenya. You must have a story. No one visiting Tywin could possibly have no story.”

Cersanne laughed. “I’ve been given a very important task regarding Robb Stark.”

She stopped herself, realising she had had far too much wine and was in very real danger of revealing too many details of her task to this relative stranger. “How interesting-”

“Willow?”

Both girls started, turning to see Tyrion watching them with interest.

“Cers-”

Cersanne shook her head, grateful to see the understanding dawn on her cousin’s face.

“Who’s this?”

Willow laughed. “I got a lost in the camp. Martenya here was kind enough to help me find my way back.”

“Martenya must be the girl Tywin’s waiting for. Wait here, Willow. This camp is full of unsavoury characters.”

“None more unsavoury than you, my love.”

Cersanne bit her tongue to keep from laughing, surprised by the soft expression in Tyrion’s eyes as he smiled at Willow, whose expression mirrored his. How interesting.

Cersanne followed Tyrion from the tent, waiting until they were out of earshot of the tent.

“She’s new.”

“And hello to you, Cousin.”

Cersanne chuckled fondly. “She seems nice, Tyrion. If you hurt her, I will castrate you. With a rusty spoon if needs be.”

“My dear cousin, what do you take me for? Besides, I fear she would beat you to it. Now, what is all this talk I hear of you and Robb Stark?”

Cersanne filled him in as best she could as they walked to Tywin’s tent, a walk that was dragged out by Tyrion’s much slower pace.

“Robb Stark has always seemed like a good man, don’t let Cersei’s judgement cloud yours,” he counselled suddenly, glancing up at her.

“I hope to have my own opinion of him. It’s just difficult when I’ve never met the man.”

“I know. I would feel the same, but, the Starks are good people, I respect them all. I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.”

Cersanne laughed before grimacing as she realised they had reached Tywin’s tent. “I guess this is it.” Tyrion nodded. “Whatever happens. Don’t forget who you are, or why you’re there.”


	2. Through The Tears and The Laughter

After the reassurances from her uncle, Cersanne hadn’t expected to be dumped here of all places. Slap bang in the middle of the battlefield. She looked around, wondering how best to make herself useful. She had some medical knowledge, but even at a glance she knew that she wouldn’t be of much help for most of the men covering the battlefield. Most were dead, many were dying and there were some who looked fine, but Cersanne could tell that their minds were damaged beyond repair.

She knew there was nothing she could do for any of them. The only thing she could do now was get away from the sounds of death. She looked around for anyone. Someone willing to help her get away.

“Hello.”

She turned, startled.

“Oh, don’t be alarmed. I’m with Robb Stark. You’re safe now.”

Cersanne nodded, still discomforted by the way the man’s eyes were trailing up and down her body. She pulled the tattered cloak her uncle had provided tighter over her chest. “Who are you?”

“Theon. Greyjoy. I’m a ward of the Starks.”

She nodded again. “I’ve heard of you.” And his supposed prowess with the ladies.

He grinned, clearly pleased at the idea of being talked about at all. “I’ll bet. I’m the heir to the Iron Islands. One day I will be their Lord.”

Cersanne didn’t quite know what to say. Was he trying to impress her or did he say this to every woman he met? Or maybe just the ones he found standing alone on the battlefield.

“C’mon. I need to be heading back. If I take you to the encampment I’m sure someone will be able to get you home. Or if you want to stay I’m sure I could make room.”

She laughed uncomfortably, not wanting to insult him and lose his help. “Thank you.”

She allowed him to help her onto his horse, ignoring the curious stares of the other men. His arm was firmly around her waist as they rode and she tried not to squirm as his hands wandered her waist, hovering just below her breasts. She pushed it away gently, grateful to see the rest of the company approaching.

And that’s when she caught her first glimpse of him. Robb Stark.

He was stern faced, but she supposed any man would be had they just fought in a battle. He looked every inch a King, more so than Joffrey did. Even from a distance she noticed his eyes. Tully blue and determined.

“What’s this?”

Cersanne tried not take offence at the use of the word what.

“I found her wandering the battlefield.”

“And you just thought you’d bring her with you? Did you even get a name?”

Cersanne remained silent throughout the exchange, not sure what to say in defence of herself.

“You need to learn to think with your head, Greyjoy.”

Theon merely grinned. “One day, Stark.”

Cersanne’s relief was short lived when they finally arrived in the camp. Theon gave her a sad, but almost hopeful, smile before following after Robb who had called the troops together to get a better look at their new prisoner. Clearly it was quite the occasion, the clamouring and whooping of the troops suggested this was no lowly soldier they had caught.

Ever curious, Cersanne followed behind, stifling a gasp when she saw just who that prisoner was. Her cousin, her unbeatable cousin, Jaime was in a bloodied and battered heap on the floor.

She swallowed down her gasp, she knew she couldn’t give herself away so early. Just seeing him in such a sorry state was enough to make her eyes threaten to spill over with tears. Hopefully anyone who noticed would simply attribute it to feminine sensibilities.

“Lady Stark, I would offer you my sword; but I seem to have lost it.”

Ever the comedian, Cersanne would have laughed if she thought she could manage without giving herself away. Or crying.

“It is not your sword I want.”

From her place in the crowd, Cersanne could not see Lady Stark’s face and from the tone of her voice she wasn’t sure she wanted to. How Jaime wasn’t withering under such a stony tone was beyond her. She would have been a sobbing wreck.

“Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband.”

“I’ve lost them too, I’m afraid.”

The stubbornness of men. Cersanne wanted to throttle them all. How easy it would be to end this war before it ever really started. Send Eddard Stark back to Winterfell, or to the Wall - and his daughter’s with him. From what Cersanne understood, with Robert Baratheon dead, there was no love between the Starks and Lannisters and no reason to maintain the engagement between Sansa Stark and Cersanne’s wretched cousin Joffrey.

“Kill ‘im, Robb.”

Cersanne looked in the direction of the voice. It was Theon. Of course. She glanced back at Jaime who looked more intrigued than concerned. She knew that expression. She had seen it mirrored on his twin's face several times when Cersei was trying to get a measure of her. 

“Send his head to his father. He cut down ten of our men. You saw him.”

“He’s more use to us alive than dead.”

Cersanne wanted to kiss him. She didn’t know how she would have been able to bear watching her cousin die.

“Take him away, and put him in irons.”

“You could end this war right now, boy.”

 _'Listen to him'._ Cersanne pleaded silently. ' _Just do it, Robb'_.

“Save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords, or lances, teeth, nails - Choose your weapons and let’s end this here and now.”

Cersanne wanted to scream. The pride of men would be their downfall. Every single one of them. The camp stood in silence, watching Robb, waiting for his reaction. Was he the hot-headed fool Cersei had so easily written him off as?

“If we do it your way, _Kingslayer_ ; you’d win. We’re not doing it your way.”

Cersanne had to give him credit. He was no fool. He’d even managed to remain remarkably calm.

The gathered crowds cheered as Jaime was led away. Cersanne would have to find out where. Even if she couldn’t free him without giving herself away, she could make sure he was alive and as well as possible. As she made to follow them, she heard Robb, barely audible over the cheers of his men.

“I sent two thousand men to their graves today.”

Cersanne paused. Surprised by his words. She’d been led to believe he had no regard for his men. No understanding of the sacrifice he was asking of them. Perhaps Cersei was wrong.

“The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice.”

Theon was definitely more the fool that Cersei had described. Was it possible she had the two confused?

“Aye; but the dead won’t hear them.”

She watched as he glanced at his mother, clearly seeking some sort of comfort or confirmation. Cersanne fought the urge to embrace him. His face looked so sad. She bit back the urge, focusing instead on watching him. Of getting some sort of understanding of this unexpected person now addressing the still-cheering crowd.

“One victory does not make us conquerors! Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees? This war is far from over.”

It was a good speech. Simple and stirring. Cersanne could suddenly understand why the gathered men so willingly followed him. For all his youth, Robb Stark was a born leader. Her mind was reeling as she watched him walk away.

* * *

 

She wandered around the encampment, careful to avoid the attentions of Theon who had tried to seek her out several times after Robb’s speech. For days she had been desperately avoiding him. She would have to be more careful about being alone with these men. Especially Theon Greyjoy.

She hoisted her skirts higher, just over her ankles. The mud was making walking so hard. She stopped, caught off guard by the sound of heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

Instead of a response she heard a loud thud, like a sword being swung against something hard. Against her better judgement she found herself following the noise. She heard the sound of heavy, laboured breathing again before realising it was the sound of crying. A woman crying.

She saw Lady Stark gripping a tree tightly, her face the very image of grief. Realisation dawned on Cersanne.

Joffrey had done it. He’d killed Lord Stark.

She was rooted to the spot. There was nothing she could do to comfort the grieving widow, and to even attempt to do so would feel wrong.

As she began to walk away she heard that same dull thudding. Lady Stark heard it too and started towards the noise. Cersanne followed behind her, as quietly as possible. Gasping when her eyes landed on the source.

There stood Robb Stark, swinging his huge sword at a nearby tree with tears streaming down his face. As with his mother, there was a large part of her wanted to comfort him. Another wanted to run far away and give up on her task. How could she do anything her family wanted when they had allowed Joffrey to cause this much pain to the Starks. The Starks who just wanted to be reunited and to go home. 

“ _I’ll kill them all_.”

Before she’d realised she had started, she was running. As far from Lady Stark and her eldest son as her feet would carry her.

The sobs tore from her throat near completely unbidden. She couldn’t stop them. The more she tried to bite them down, the more came flooding down her cheeks.

Was this what she had agreed to?

More than ever before she was questioning which side was the right one. She paused, looking back at the camp. She needed Jaime.

She needed to see another Lannister. She needed to understand why. Why she was there, why Lord Stark had lost his head, why they thought she would be of any use to their cause. Why?

Even as she headed back to the camp she knew it was a bad idea. She had never been close to Jaime. She had never borne him any ill will either, but he reminded her too much of his twin sister.

And she was very intimidated by him. By just the idea of him. The reputation he had. The name. _Kingslayer._

She had always been brought up with the knowledge that Jaime’s actions against his king had been just and she couldn’t imagine being in his situation. She had no idea what she would have done had she been left with his choice. Her father's head and thousands of lives or kill a man she was sworn to protect. She just couldn’t imagine stabbing a man driving a sword into a man’s back.

She saw the guards first. She cursed her stupidity. She’d always had her familial connections to open doors for her. That name would do her no good here. Not now.

She supposed she could use her looks, but even they wouldn’t get her far. And she was hardly willing to sacrifice her virtue just to talk to Jaime of all people.

She shook her head. It would have to wait. She needed to time to think things through by herself before she allowed herself to be brainwashed again.

With a sigh, Cersanne found herself walking back the way she had come. She glanced over her shoulder, checking that her presence had not been noticed. As far as she could tell she hadn’t. She realised a breath that had caught in her throat.

She had no real idea of where she was going. Back to the woods sounded like a good idea. She had always been able to think better when surrounded by trees.

* * *

 

She didn’t know how long she had been sat on the stump. All she knew was that it was nearly dark. She stood, brushing her dress half-heartedly with her palms. It was in a hopeless state already. One day of walking through mud and trees and it was torn, stained and, frankly, ruined. Cersanne sighed.

If her brothers could see her now. They would laugh. Especially Walder. He always found her fretting over her dresses amusing. She felt tears well in her eyes. She hadn’t expected to miss them. She would even have appreciated seeing Cleos, intolerable fool though he was.

She shrugged to herself before setting off towards the camp once more. She would speak to Jaime and pray she didn’t give herself away.

As the camp grew closer she felt the mud worsen. It was becoming increasingly difficult to walk in her stupid shoes. She cursed her uncle. What possible reason had there been to not provide sensible shoes; other than to torture her?

With a cry she felt her ankle twist under her. Badly enough that she had to bit her tongue to keep from sobbing.

She gritted her teeth and continued on her way, still intent on seeing her cousin. Swollen ankle be damned. She needed answers.

“Oi! Oi!”

Cersanne looked up at the sound. The soldiers walking towards her were already catcalling. Her skin crawled as they grew closer. She wasn’t naive enough to pretend she didn’t know what they wanted.

“Look-y what we got ‘ere, Willem!”

“She’s pretty! Must be one of the Lannister cast-offs.”

“Let us look at ye, gel!”

She shuddered, stepping back from the man, out of the reach of his grabby little hands, only to find herself within the reach of his friend. She prayed to all the Gods she’d ever heard of that someone, _anyone_ would step in and save her.

“Do not touch me!”

“She has a tongue, Kev!”

“I know what she can do with it!”

As they advanced on her she yelped, her cries getting stuck in her throat as she tried to scream.

“ _Enough_!”

She could have sobbed as a familiar face stepped into the fray.

“This is how you treat defenceless girls?” He offered a hand she took gladly, allowing him to pull her close to his side. “Get out of my sight all of you!”

The men scattered quickly, muttering curses and crude comments.

“Did they touch you, my lady?” He gave her a once over, eyes concerned and gentle as they met hers. 

She shook her head. “No. No, they didn’t touch me. Your Grace.”

He nodded his head, easing his grip on her, though not letting go entirely. “I’m sorry for the things they said to you.”

“You should not be apologising on their behalf. Were it not for you - well, I shouldn’t like to think what they had planned. I am in your debt, Your Grace.” A small smile played on her lips. She might not be even half a Lannister anymore, but the words still managed to find their way into her mouth.

“I don’t even know your name, My Lady.”

She stepped away from him, strangely embarrassed by his attention. “I’m no lady, Your Grace. My name’s Martenya.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. “Martenya _Flowers_.”

He blinked as the implication hit him. “From the Reach.”

Ah, a gentleman. Again, not quite what her cousin had led her to expect. “Yes. My mother was a barmaid.”

“So your father was the lord?”

She laughed. “You seem quite determined I am some sort of nobility!”

He grinned. “I’d happily wager the fact. It’s obvious.”

“And how is that, Your Grace?”

Again he flashed that grin, one that that made Cersanne’s heart flutter a little. Not that she would admit it to anyone. “Would you like me to list the reasons? Or I could just apologise.”

Cersanne stared at him in confusion. “Apologise, Your Grace?”

He nodded, stepping closer again before scooping her into his arms. “I’m afraid that wasn’t very gentlemanly.”

She gasped, shaking her head. “No. It was not.”

He laughed as he set off towards the camp. “Still, I think you’ll appreciate it tomorrow when you try to walk on that ankle.”

So he had noticed. “In that case I suppose I should thank you.”

He carried her in silence for a while and Cersanne found herself growing sad as the camp grew closer. “What were you doing wandering alone like that?”

She sighed. “Thinking. Or not thinking, depending on who you ask.”

“So your thoughts led you to be left alone in the dark with a rowdy group of men?”

She frowned. “I’m not that sort of girl, Your Grace.”

“I didn’t - Again, that much is obvious, My Lady.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Your Grace.”

He shook his head. His auburn curls bouncing gently. “Even at war it’s hard to forget the lessons I grew up with.”

“I wouldn’t know, Your Grace.” She felt herself shiver suddenly.

“You’re cold.”

“You’re observant.”

He laughed again. It was a pleasant sound and made her feel almost as comfortable as it made her feel guilty. If he knew who she really was he wouldn't be laughing with her. He would have left her to the mercy of those men. Looking at his kind eyes she frowned. Maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he would have just dropped her in the mud.

“I was sorry to hear about your father. He did not deserve it.”

The smile left his face. “No he did not.”

They had arrived at the encampment. Gently, Robb let her down, allowing her to rest some of her weight on him as she tested her ankle.

“You should probably see a maester, make sure it’s not broken.”

Cersanne shook her head. “I’ve broken an ankle before, Your Grace. It’s just twisted. Thank you; for everything.” She dropped into a curtsy, gritting her teeth as her ankle protested against the action.

He watched her in silence, deep in thought, before turning away from her, his face suddenly troubled though Cersanne had no idea how she had offended him. 

She sighed, pushing Robb Stark from her thoughts as she looked in the direction of the prisoners.


	3. As Damned As He Seems

Cersanne hovered in her hiding place. She’d managed to get past the guards; they weren’t as frightening as she’d feared and maybe twice as dimwitted as she’d hoped. Yet still, the thought of speaking to Jaime didn't sit entirely right with her.

She’d half made her mind up to leave and find a maester instead as Robb had suggested, but something stopped her. A movement by Jaime’s holding area - if you could call it that. He was chained to a wooden pole and had been left to sit in the mud. She supposed the Stark men wanted to shame him a little to avenge their fallen. She couldn’t blame them.

With a jolt, she suddenly recognised the visitor. Lady Stark. Intrigued, and a little afraid for her cousin’s safety, Cersanne crept closer, careful to balance her weight on her good ankle.

“Leave us.”

The guard paused for a moment, unsure, glancing between Jaime and Lady Stark before leaving silently.

“You look lovely tonight, Lady Stark. Widowhood becomes you.”

Not for the first time, Cersanne wanted to scream at her cousin to show some decorum. This was hardly a time for jokes.

Lady Stark didn’t reply, instead bending down and picking something up from the ground. Cersanne couldn’t see what exactly, but, from the look of their surroundings, she was fairly confident in her guess it was a rock.

“Your bed must be lonely. Is that why you came?”

Cersanne felt sick to her stomach, hot bile rose in her throat as she listened to the words. She was vaguely aware that it was all bravado, an act that Jaime was putting on. Even so, she was ashamed of him.

“I’m not at my best, but, I think I could be of service. You slip out of that gown and we’ll see if I’m up to it.”

He was stopped from saying more by Lady Stark smashing the rock she had been holding into his jaw.

She knew it was wrong, but Cersanne couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer force. From the stunned silence that followed for a moment, Cersanne supposed Jaime must have been, too.

“I do like a violent woman.”

“I will kill you, tonight, _Ser_. Pack your head into a box and send it to your sister.”

Cersanne could only imagine Cersei’s response. Not to mention the retribution she would reign down on every person even remotely tied to the Starks.

“Let me show you how. Hit me again; over the ear. And again, and again. You’re stronger than you look. It shouldn’t take long.”

“That is what you want the world to believe, isn’t it? That you don’t fear death.”

“But I don’t, My Lady. The dark is coming for all of us. Why cry about it?”

This gave Cersanne pause. She couldn’t properly see his face in the darkness, but his tone was genuine enough, for Jaime at least.

“Because you are going to the deepest of the Seven Hells if the Gods are just.”

“What Gods are those? The trees your husband prayed to? Where were the trees when his head was getting chopped off? If your Gods are real, and if they’re just; why is the world so full of injustice?”

Cersanne had never heard anyone speak of the Gods that way. She didn’t like the truth that she heard in his words. The Gods were just. They just had plans for everyone that seemed unjust sometimes. Surely Jaime could see that.

“Because of men like you.”

“There are no men like me. Only me.”

Cersanne shook her head. There it was again. Pride. The downfall of all men.

“My son. Bran. How did he come to fall from that tower?”

Cersanne had only heard rumours of the Stark boy’s accident. Though the more she heard the less she believed it to be an accident. She suspected he had seen something he was not supposed to and she truly doubted the suspicion Lady Stark had of Tyrion was rightly placed. She could never imagine someone like him pushing that boy to what should have been his death. As she waited for Jaime’s response she began to suspect the truth.

“I pushed him out the window.”

Cersanne gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth in hopes that no one had heard. She had not expected him to be so brazen.

“ _Why_?”

For the first time that night, Lady Stark sounded genuinely shaken, and vulnerable.

“I...hoped the fall would kill him.”

Again, bile rose in Cersanne’s throat. Bran was a child. Whatever he had seen, and a disturbing theory was forming in her head, he had not deserved such a fate. Nor did he deserve the life that Jaime had sentenced him to, if the rumours of his injuries were to be believed.

“Why?”

Jaime sighed, his breath coming out in thick clouds in the frigid night air. “You should get some sleep. It’s going to be a long war.”

There was a thud as Lady Stark dropped the rock she had been holding. Cersanne let out a breath. It seemed Jaime would survive the night after all.

As Lady Stark walked away, Cersanne sat for a moment, just watching Jaime’s silhouette in the moonlight. What kind of man was he? To do that to an innocent child.

She crept closer.

“I know you’re there, little cousin.”

She flinched. She should’ve known. She moved closer, as quickly and quietly as she could manage with her swollen ankle. “How’d you know?”

He laughed. “You’re not a sneaky as you like to think.”

She sighed. There was silence for a few moments.

“You think I’m a monster.”

She frowned. “I don’t know what I think of you.”

He nodded. “So, they actually sent you here? I figured it was just a passing fancy.”

She shrugged. “I guess not. Why am I here?”

He squinted at her. “You know why.”

She nodded. He was right, at least technically. “Does it hurt?” She gestured vaguely at his bloodied face.

“I’ve survived worse.”

She tore a piece of ripped fabric from her dress and busied herself with wiping away the worst of the blood. He flinched away from her.

“Leave it.”

She shook her head. “You’re going to be here for a long time. Better to get the worst of it off than to leave it to get caked in Gods know what else...” She trailed off, trying not to mention the smell that was already surrounding him.

“I have a plan.”

She shook her head. “It won’t work.”

He met her eyes for the first time, the same emerald as his sister met her brown. “And what do you know about it, little cousin?”

She shook her head. “I’m no strategist, but I know what being outnumbered looks like. They’re not going to let you get away, and they won't kill you until they know the Stark girls are safe. You’d best get comfortable. This war is far from over.”

She stopped rubbing at the mud and blood that coated his face, giving him a sidelong glance. “You really meant to kill him? Bran?”

He nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, and I’m not used to failing. That boy should be dead. A fall from that height. I was sure of it.”

“ _Why_? What did he see?”

“Ah, someone finally asks the right question. Something he wasn’t supposed to, but I’m sure you didn’t need me to tell you that.”

“Does it have anything to do with why Lord Stark is dead?”

Jaime laughed harshly. “In a way, I suppose it does. Everything is connected, Cersanne. You just have to know where to look. If you really want to know that is.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You may think you want to know the truth, but you don’t. Not really. It’ll only leave you more confused.”

She felt her eyes widen. “How did you know?”

He rolled his eyes. It was a strangely ordinary gesture from someone she had always thought of as extraordinary. “I am not a fool. We have never been close, I saw that surprise when I remembered your name. So you haven’t come to me out of concern for my safety. Or for my company. You sought me out because you're either doubting yourself or you’re having trouble linking the things you’ve heard and what you are seeing. What are you calling yourself now?”

“Martenya,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Well, _Martenya_. You should rest. The war has only just begun.”

* * *

 

Jaime’s parting words had been true at least. Weeks had passed and Cersanne had followed the army from camp to camp, waiting for the soldiers as they returned victory after victory.

Despite the knowledge that they were fighting Lannister men, she couldn't’ help the sense of relief that overwhelmed her each time she saw them return. A few had even become familiar faces, offering her smiles and even the occasional wink as they rode past. She mourned these men the most.

One day she noticed that the group that had tried to attack her had not returned. She hadn’t known how to feel then. There was a sense of shame that came over her when she realised at least part of what she was feeling was relief. Whatever they had tried to do to her, they were still someone’s family.

Since their last conversation, she hadn’t bothered to return to Jaime. Like her, he had moved with the Starks from camp to camp. A clever strategy on the Stark side. Tywin Lannister was the richest man in Westeros. Anyone the Starks trusted to watch over him whilst they continued on their way would have to be unbelievably loyal to resist the rewards her uncle would offer for the safe return of his son.

She had also not seen much of Robb. Their last encounter had left her shaken. She still didn't know quite what had changed between them in the moments before he had walked away. It troubled her, but she couldn't bring herself to confront him. She had pushed the thought to the back of her mind, busying herself instead with fashioning a new, more practical dress out of what wearable material she could find. Eventually she had snapped the heels from her boots. It had given her a strange gait, but she hadn’t twisted her ankle since then so she decided the sacrifice was worth it.

After she had finished, the overhaul of her wardrobe had left her looking like a street urchin from Flea Bottom. Maybe now Robb Stark would believe that she was no lady. Strangely, the thought made her smile.

All morning she had been preoccupied, her thoughts never really settling as she wandered the camp. She had no clear idea of where she was heading, only making sure that she was not left alone with any of the men. She had learned her lesson the first time and wasn't planning on repeating it. She glanced at her surroundings, not overly surprised to realise she had wandered towards the makeshift cells.

She heard two voices she recognised immediately and allowed her curiosity to get the better of her.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like being called ‘ _boy_ ’? Insulted?”

Despite everything, and his rather impressively unpleasant appearance and stench, Jaime’s attitude remained unchanged.

“You insult yourself, _Kingslayer_. You’ve been defeated by a _boy_. You’re held captive by a _boy_. Perhaps you’ll be killed by a boy.”

It was then she got her first real look at Robb Stark’s direwolf. She had read the stories, heard the old wives tales and heard talk around the camp, but she had never actually seen Grey Wind with her own eyes.

Cersanne had always prided herself on her imagination, no matter how much her mother bemoaned it, but even her imagination had not been able to conjure an accurate picture. The beast, and there was no other word for it,that appeared by Robb’s side looked for all the world like a regular wolf, intelligent yellow, almost amber, eyes that were fixed on Jaime, thick grey hair that Robb’s hand was buried in and a long, bushy tail. The only thing to distinguish it as a direwolf was its size. It was huge. Its back was level with Robb’s waist and it wasn’t far off as wide as its master. Even from a distance Cersanne could feel the mutual respect radiating from wolf to master and the fear rolling off Jaime.

Cersanne smiled to herself. A lion afraid of a wolf.

Even as Robb spoke, Cersanne could see the sheer terror on Jaime’s face as his eyes remained fixed on the beast in front of him. She had never before seen such a look from him. She couldn’t imagine anyone not looking the same with Grey Wind staring at them so intensely, growling the whole time. Jaime’s eyes finally moved from wolf to master as Robb voiced the vile accusation Cersanne had heard before.

“He’s your bastard son.”

The words had stopped shocking Cersanne. After all, the idea that Joffrey was the product of incest hardly seemed far fetched. The Targaryens had practised incest throughout their reign and the old saying was a good indication of how that had turned out. ‘Every Time a Targaryen is born the Gods flip a coin’. It seemed that, if the rumours were to be believed, the toss of the coin had not turned out favourably for Cersei.

“If that’s true, Stannis is the rightful King. How convenient for him.”

Cersanne had to hand it to him. Jaime remained remarkably calm under the line of questioning.

“My father learned the truth. That’s why you had him executed.”

Jaime’s eyes had returned to the wolf. “I was your prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head.”

“Your son killed him so the world wouldn’t learn who fathered him and you; you pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the queen.”

And there it was. The truth. Finally. Maybe not from Jaime’s own mouth, but at least it was out there.

“You have proof? Or do you just want to trade gossip like a couple of fishwives?”

“I’m sending one of your cousins down to King’s Landing with my peace terms.”

Jaime scoffed. “You think my father’s going to negotiate with you? You don’t know him very well.”

“No, but he’s starting to know me.”

“Three victories don’t make you a conqueror.”

“It’s better than three defeats.”

Cersanne watched with morbid curiosity as Robb urged his wolf forward, flinching as its jaws snapped mere centimetres from Jaime’s face. Without so much as a second glance it turned away from him, chasing after its master.

With a lingering look in Jaime’s direction, Cersanne followed after Robb.

“He’s right you know.”

Robb turned, smiling when he saw her. “Oh, it’s you.”

She nodded, catching up to him with a few quick steps. “It’s been a while, Your Grace.”

He watched her for a moment, a thought clearly troubling him as he stared at her, before shaking his head. “How’s your ankle?”

She was surprised he’d remembered, given all that had happened since. “Since the time you helped me or the four times since?”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly. Cersanne was reminded of just how much she liked the sound. “Perhaps you should be more careful, My Lady.”

She bit her lip. “I’d prefer it if you’d call me _Martenya_ , Your Grace.”

He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head at her. “This upsets you, doesn’t it?”

There was a grumble from beside him. Cersanne laughed as he looked down at his direwolf in shock. “Sorry, it seems he doesn't remember his lessons. This is Grey Wind.”

Cersanne had never spent much time around dogs of any size and so stayed completely still as the wolf circled her, sniffing curiously.

Robb laughed. “You don’t have to worry. He only bites Lannisters.”

Cersanne grinned nervously, hoping the weeks of mud and other miscellaneous stains would hide the scent of Tywin’s camp on her dress. “Lucky me.”

She breathed out as Grey wind’s attentions turned from her. “I’ve never seen a direwolf before.”

“You’re not the only one. I hear they’ve not been seen South of the Wall in centuries.”

“Until now, Your Grace.”

“Until now,” he echoed quietly. “You said he was right.”

"Hmm?"

Robb indicated the direction they had come in. "The Kingslayer, you said he was right."

Cersanne shook her head. "I only meant that Tywin Lannister has a certain reputation. You really think he is going to bend to your commands?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I am presenting him with my conditions for peace. What he does with them is his decision. I'm not trying to command him."

Cersanne tried not to flinch at his tone. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm talking about. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. Forgive me." 

She turned to walk away, stopping only when Robb's hand gripped her arm, turning her to face him once more. 

"Don't. That was rude of me. You have every right to voice your opinion. A good ruler listens to the concerns of all his people. Even those who seem to lack power."

She flinched from his grip, ignoring the hurt look on his face. "Did your father teach you that?" She asked curiously. 

Robb nodded. "Come with me."

 


	4. If I Could Just Hold On

Cersanne stood where Robb had left her at the back of the tent. She watched as the gathered men stopped talking, looking up at the boy who had entered the tent. The colours on his clothes gave him away immediately. He was a Lannister soldier, barely her age. She moved forward slightly, trying to get a better look at him. 

“You’re Ser Alton Lannister?”

“I am, Your Grace.” Cersanne assumed the gathered men were pretending not to notice his delay in adding Robb’s newly assumed title. 

As she watched the boy standing before them, somewhere, in the back of her mind, she felt a vague sense of recognition. She supposed she must have seen him at some family gathering. Which one, she couldn’t recall. She shrunk back, suddenly afraid that he would recognise her if he got a good look at the girl hiding in the shadows. She shook her head, returning her attention to the conversation.    


“First, your family must release my sisters. Second, my father’s bones must be returned to us so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts below Winterfell. And the remains of all those who died in his service must also be returned; their families can honour them with proper funerals.”

“An honourable request, Your Grace.”   


Cersanne agreed. If these were Robb Stark’s terms then maybe this war would be over sooner than she’d anticipated. She could go home to Casterly Rock and pretend nothing had changed. Forget Robb Stark and his charming laugh. She shook her head. How fanciful she had become. 

“Third, Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claim to the dominion of the North. From this time, to the end of time, we are a free and independent kingdom.”

“ _The King in the North_.”

Cersanne watched with fascination as the words were said by each of the gathered men. Some she recognised, like Theon, who she had ,so far, managed to avoid pretty well. Others she was aware she _should_ recognise, but didn’t.

“Neither Joffrey, nor any of his men shall set foot in our lands again. If he disregards this command he shall suffer the same fate as my father. Only, I don’t need a servant to do my beheading for me.” 

The silence grew tense. Cersanne had to admit the speech was impressive. She looked to Alton, waiting for his response.

“These are...Your Grace. These are- ”

“These are my terms.” Robb stood as he spoke, looking every inch a king. “If the Queen Regent and her son meet them, I’ll give them peace. If not; I will litter the South with Lannister dead.”

“King Joffrey is a _Baratheon_ , Your Grace.”

“Oh, is he? You’ll ride at daybreak, Ser Alton. That will be all for tonight.”

The gathered men rose, bowing to their king as they left the tent, leaving just Robb and Theon. Cersanne watched them for a moment, before leaving the tent herself, standing just outside where she could continue to listen, hopefully  unnoticed. 

“A word, Your Grace.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘ _Your Grace_ ’ when no one’s around.”

Cersanne smiled gently. From what little she knew of Robb, it hardly surprised her that he didn’t like his friends to use his title when alone. 

“It’s not so bad; once you get used to it.”

“I’m glad someone’s gotten used to it.”

She pressed closer, trying to hear the conversation better. 

“The Lannisters are going to reject your terms, you know.”

She heard Robb sigh softly before answering. “Of course they are.”

“We can fight them in the fields as long as you like, but we won’t beat them until you take King’s Landing.”

Cersanne silently agreed. Winning battles on the field was one thing, but none would pay much attention to a distant war. Take the capital and even the smallfolk would have to take note. Joffrey would be forced to submit in the face of an army at his door. 

“And we can’t take King’s Landing without ships.”

Cersanne didn’t understand the implication, but from the tense silence that followed, she suspected Robb did. 

“My father has ships and men that know how to sail them.”   


“Men who fought my father.”

“Men who fought King Robert to free themselves from the yoke of the South. Just like you’re doing now.”

  
She couldn’t help but feel that Theon had been rehearsing this speech for some time. She had never pegged him as one with a talent with words, but this seemed well thought out, and worded well enough to make Robb think. Cersanne wasn’t sure she trusted Theon’s intentions. Still, it wasn’t her place and Theon was Robb’s friend. If he could trust anyone, surely it would be his childhood companion? 

“I’m his only living son. He’ll listen to me. I know he will.”

Cersanne couldn’t tell who he was trying to convince. Robb or himself. 

“I’m not a Stark. I know that. But your father raised me to be a honourable man. We can avenge him, together.”

Throughout nearly the whole exchange, Robb hadn’t said a word and Cersanne wished she could see his face, to get an understanding of what he was thinking. She pressed closer to the tent as Theon walked away, a smile on his face speaking volumes as to his feelings about their conversation. 

“I take it you were listening, My Lady?”

She jumped, plastering a smile on her face as she turned to face him. He turned back into the tent, silently inviting her to follow him. “You caught me, Your Grace.” 

He laughed, his eyes sad as he watched her. 

“You look troubled, Your Grace.”

He sighed. “What do you think?” 

Cersanne shook her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “It’s not my place. You know your friend better than I do.”

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it. He’s my friend. I want to trust my friend.”

Cersanne frowned at his words. “But you don’t.” 

“They say Balon Greyjoy has two hundred ships. I need those ships. Do you understand the difference that could make to this war?”

She nodded. “What’s stopping you?” 

Again, Robb sighed, stepping closer to her. “Do you know the terms I had to agree to when we wanted to pass through Walder Frey’s lands?” 

Cersanne shook her head. She had wondered what had possessed her grandfather to side with the Starks. The Lannisters had more money, more power, ties to his own family. What had the Starks offered to best that? 

“Have you met my squire? Olyvar? He is one of Walder Frey’s sons. He was one part of the agreement. I’m expected to give him a knighthood, in time. Still, he’s a good man, I think I might come to call him a friend eventually.”

Cersanne nodded. She had met Olyvar, briefly, at Cleos’ wedding. He had seemed like a nice man, a little anxious, but passionate and kind. Robb couldn’t have asked for a better squire.

“That’s not the worst of it, though. My sister, Arya, must marry another of his sons. She’s going to hate me for agreeing to that.” He chuckled, his thoughts clearly on his youngest sister. “When the fighting is done, I will marry one of his daughters.”

His tone suggested his was quoting someone. From the expression on his face, the prospect did not excite him. 

“ _Whichever I prefer_.”

Cersanne moved to touch his arm before thinking better of it. “Was it worth it?”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Worth it?”

She nodded. “For the bridge. For the victory you won after you crossed?”

Robb sighed, sitting, waving his hand at the chair opposite him to invite her to do the same. “I don’t know. I always hoped that I’d marry someone of my choice. Or at least someone I at least liked. Perhaps a foolish sentiment.”

Cersanne shook her head. “You were the son of a Lord. Now you’re a King. I can understand why you’d hoped for a choice.”

He stared at her for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.” 

Cersanne toyed with a loose thread on her sleeve. “You’re a good man, Robb. An honourable man. You’re going to do the right thing. Whatever you decide that is, I have every faith in you.”

* * *

 

A few days later, Cersanne was sat sewing when she spotted Grey Wind trotting towards her.    


“Hey, boy! Where’s Robb?” 

She put the fabric she had been working on down next to her, scratching the direwolf’s head gently. She sighed gently as her fingers buried themselves in Grey Wind’s coarse fur. She watched the men wandering the encampment, busying themselves with preparing for the next battle, even from a distance she could hear the bawdy songs. 

“That’s where he went.”

Cersanne stood, a smile spreading on her face as she looked at him. “Your Grace.”   


“My Lady. Walk with me?”

She nodded, lifting her skirts as they trudged through the mud. Robb watched her for a moment before offering his arm. She took it gladly, welcoming his steadying hold. “One day, you’re going to find me looking presentable and walking without injury.”

He laughed quietly. “You’d take away my only source of amusement?”   


Cersanne pulled up short, schooling her face into a mask of insult. “Is that what I am to you? Amusement?” 

His mouth parted, the laughter gone from his eyes the instant he took in her expression. “I meant no offence, My Lady. _Martenya_.”   


At the mention of her adopted name she grinned, she must've really worried him. “None taken, Your Grace. Still, I fooled you, didn’t I?”

He studied her as realisation dawned on her. “You’re joking?”

She nodded, feeling quite pleased with herself. 

“You’d attempt to make a fool of your king?” 

His stern tone didn’t fool her. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. You’re not fooling me. You're not that good a liar.”

She watched as his features softened. “Maybe next time.”

They walked along in companionable silence for a while, the only sound was Grey Wind’s low growling as he chased after a rabbit a few metres ahead. 

“You know, I’ve never been to the North,” Cersanne said after a while, glancing at Robb out the corner of her eye. “What’s it like?”

Robb considered this for a moment, watching Grey Wind with a soft smile. “Cold.” 

Cersanne laughed, wrapping her makeshift cloak tighter around herself. “I would never have guessed.”   


“I don’t know how to describe it for you,” he admitted quietly. “It’s  _ home _ .”

Cersanne sighed, wondering what that felt like. She could hardly imagine talking about Casterly Rock so fondly. “I don’t know what that feels like.”

Robb stopped, turning to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Your Grace. Besides, I’ve come to feel quite at home around here. The smell isn’t so bad; once you get used to it.”   


He grinned before frowning. “It’s no place for a lady.”

She smiled. “Good thing I’m not a lady then.” She nudged him before freezing as she realised what she’d done. Fortunately for her, Robb didn’t seem fazed.  “Do you really miss it so much?” She asked. 

“Winterfell?” 

She nodded. 

“Every single day.”

Cersanne looked back at the camp. “I think I’d like to see it. Maybe after I find a better cloak.”

“Maybe I’ll take you there one day.”

She turned to look at him, suddenly aware of how close they were. 

“Your Grace!”

She blinked, stepping away as Lord Karstark came into view. With a curtsy she walked away, ignoring how fast her heart was pounding. 

* * *

Cersanne had no idea how she had ended up on the battlefield. She had always meant to stay as far from it as she possibly could. Yet somehow, there she was, staring at the fallen, listening to the sounds of the dying. She felt entirely helpless as she watched the Silent Sisters go about their business, tending to the injured and the dying. Cersanne rolled up her sleeves, determined to do her part. There had to be some use for her. She'd help tend to her brother's wounds, occasionally and she had read the medical books her maester had offered when she'd shown an interest in his medicines.

She spotted a Silent Sister battling with a screaming man and started towards them, hoping that there was something more to be done for him. She had barely knelt beside the pair before she knew her hopes had been in vain. Even before looking she could smell it. The rot. The poor boy would either lose his foot now, or his whole leg, or even his life, later.

“Hush, it’ll be over soon.” She took his hand in her own, doing her best to soothe them as another girl sat beside them, producing a saw that had clearly already seen more than one amputation.    


“Don’t! Don’t please!” The boy’s desperate protests continued and it became increasingly difficult for her to keep a firm hold of him. 

“Look at me,” she instructed desperately. “Don’t look. Please,  _ please  _ don’t look.”

The other girl tried again to explain to the boy before pausing, looking at something, or someone, standing just behind Cersanne. 

Cersanne had felt the presence behind her but refused to move her attention from the boy who continued to grip her hand, looking around wildly for some form of salvation.

Suddenly, she felt herself nudged to the side roughly. She looked to her left, about to protest before recognising the person beside her, his presence had become so familiar to her in the past weeks that she felt herself steady.  

Robb Stark. King in the North. Kneeling on the floor beside an injured Lannister soldier. 

He never failed to surprise her.

The boy continued to plea his case, directly to Robb now, begging him. 

“You’ll die if she doesn’t.”

The words did little to calm the patient who continued to thrash. The small crowd around the boy continued their roles, Robb trying to force a piece of cloth into the boy’s mouth, the Silent Sister, well Cersanne wasn’t totally sure what her role was, and Cersanne, gripping the boy’s hand tightly as she offered her best words of comfort, knowing all the while they would mean nothing to the boy lying on the floor. 

“Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub.”

Cersanne felt her gaze wander to Roose Bolton, ever the compassionate soul, but was surprised to see her expression mirrored on Robb Stark’s face. 

“Put this in your mouth and lie down. You don’t want to watch.” Once again he tried to force the ragged cloth into the boy's mouth. “Bite on it! It’s better than biting your tongue, believe me.”

Cersanne prayed silently for the boy, unable to watch as the girl began to put the saw to work. The sound alone was almost too much to bear. Instead she focused her attention on Robb who's gaze fell on the boy and the other girl at intervals. Cersanne ignored the jealousy building in her stomach. She had no claim on him. He could never be hers after all. 

Later, Cersanne helped as the woman she now knew to be called Talisa, lifted the boy onto a carriage, hoping that somehow, things would be okay for him. She knew better than to believe they would be. If only she’d asked his name. Found some way to provide some comfort for his family. In his sorry state he'd be lucky to last a year before he was on the street. 

She looked at Talisa who nodded sadly at her, acknowledging their shared thoughts. 

“What’s your name?”

Cersanne shook her head, excusing herself from what was, from Talisa’s expression, bound to be an uncomfortable conversation. 


	5. Frayed At The Ends He Breaks

Cersanne had been busying herself with a letter to her brother, a difficult feat when she realised she couldn’t risk using his name. She bit her quill, a habit her septa had nagged her about endlessly, as she tried to negotiate all the complications around the letter. Every time a solution to one problem occurred to her, another reared it's ugly head. 

“You look troubled, My Lady.”

She grinned as she squinted up at him. “A touch of writer’s block, I have much to tell my brother, Your Grace.”

“Your brother?” 

She nodded, folding up the parchment. “Half-brother, I suppose.” Given the rumours surrounding her mother it wasn’t necessarily a lie. She stood, blocking the sun from her eyes with the back of her hand. 

Robb chuckled, grabbing her arms gently and moving her to the side, out of the sun. “Better, My Lady?”

She nodded, matching his grin with one of her own. “Much, Your Grace. Thank you.”

He smiled at her for a moment before blinking, shaking his head slightly. “I have something for you, follow me?”

Ever too curious for her own good, Cersanne nodded, following after him without a second thought. She frowned when she realised they were heading to his tent. She knew that the men were watching them but only held her head higher. 

Let them think what they want. The opinions of the sheep do not matter to the lion. She stole a glance at Robb. Unfortunately, the lion did care about the opinions of the sheep when they might lead to harm for her wolf. She shook her head again. 

You have no claim to him. She reminded herself  _ again _ .  

“You are aware the men are watching us?” She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Robb sighed. “There’s not much else or them to watch, I’m afraid.”

She agreed, their latest campsite wasn't exactly overflowing with entertainment, but stole one last worried glance at their audience before slipping into the tent behind him. 

She had never been in Robb’s personal tent, only the one he used for strategy meetings and allowed herself to explore curiously whilst Robb went off to fetch her gift. It was surprisingly simple and bare. She resolutely refused to look at his bed, flushing at what the men who had seen them must be thinking. Instead, she toyed with one of the carved wolves that stood on the makeshift battlefield, admiring the craftsmanship before putting it back as Robb returned, carrying something in both hands. 

“Here.” He held out what Cersanne now recognised to be a cloak. “I thought you might appreciate a proper cloak of your own.”

It was such a touching gesture that Cersanne felt her throat tighten as she took the strangely familiar garment, wrapping it around her shoulders before she could change her mind. “Your Grace, I-”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us.”

She remembered him saying similar words to Theon and smiled. “Are we friends now?”

He laughed before meeting her eyes. “I’d like to think so, _Martenya_. Wouldn’t you?”

She grinned. “ _ Friends _ .” She pretended to consider it for a moment. “I think I quite like the sound of that.”

* * *

 

Some time later, Cersanne was wandering around the camp, ignoring the curious eyes on her as the men went about their business preparing for their next battle, or to move on to a different camp, which she couldn't be sure and no one could, or would, tell her when she asked. She pulled Robb’s gift tighter around her. There was something familiar about the smell of the fabric. She supposed all cloaks smelled more or less the same, but there was something different that she couldn’t distinguish. 

She frowned, unrolling the parchment she had been writing on earlier as she returned to her previous spot. It was hard to know what to write. Of course, she couldn’t give any of the Stark plans away, well, the few she'd heard or guessed, even to her sweet brother. If the letter was intercepted it would be a disaster.

_ Some spy _ , a voice in the back of her head, one that sounded unnervingly similar to Cersei, spat.

She pushed the thought away. 

She wondered for a moment how much Walder and Tion knew of her task, what her parents had told them to explain her absence. Maybe they’d come up with a clever lie. Her mother was Tywin Lannister’s sister after all. Lying came upsettingly naturally to that particular branch of her family tree. 

“ _Dear Brother, I am writing this to you from a pretty, quiet spot surrounded by tents and trees_.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes at the poor attempt at mimicking her voice. “Not quite, Your Grace.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? What do you write then?”

Cersanne pulled the parchment close to her chest as she stood. “Can a lady not keep some secrets, Your Grace? Or are you so convinced that I am spy?”

Robb grinned. “Well, any spy worth their salt would have to deny being a spy, wouldn’t they?”

Cersanne nodded, her grin mirroring his. “Indeed they would, Your Grace. I suppose you’ve caught me, then. I’m really a spy for the Lannisters. I’ve been sending them all the details of the camp and your plans.” She stopped, realising what she was saying. “That is to say-”

Robb chuckled. “I hardly believe you’re a real spy, Martenya.”

Guilt pooled in her stomach as she moved to speak. 

“Robb.”

They both turned at the sound of Lady Stark’s approach. “Mother!”

Cersanne felt herself smile fondly at Robb’s clear joy at his mother’s return. She still wasn’t quite sure where Lady Stark had been but the separation had obviously been difficult for bother mother and son. She remained silent as they pair embraced, her eyes falling on the stern faced figure accompanying Lady Stark. With an embarrassed jolt she realised the figure she had supposed to be a man was a tall, short haired woman wearing fine, golden armour, her hand resting on her blade as she stoically watched Robb and his mother.

As Cersanne moved to excuse herself before noticing Lady Stark watching her. Robb turned, searching for the source of Lady Stark’s distraction. His eyes fell on Cersanne and he smiled. 

“Mother, this is Lady Martenya.”

As Robb led his mother closer, Cersanne smoothed her dress, standing as straight as she could. Her mother and septa would have been so ashamed to see her meeting a noblewoman in such a state but it couldn’t be helped. She smiled courteously, bowing her head as Lady Stark moved closer. 

“She’s been helping around the camp for the past few weeks. She’s been very,” he paused, looking between his mother and Cersanne. “ _ Helpful _ .”

Cersanne laughed awkwardly as Lady Stark gave Robb a curious glance. 

“Lady Martenya.”

“Lady Stark, it’s an honour.”

Lady Stark smiled, a smile Cersanne recognised as an exact copy of her son’s. It was suddenly apparent to Cersanne just how much Robb Stark favoured his Tully heritage. 

“Lady Martenya…?”

Robb coughed awkwardly as Cersanne blushed. She had never had to introduce herself to any noble as a bastard. The shame was almost physically painful. 

“Martenya is from The Reach, Mother,” Robb said quickly, as if this explained everything. The implication didn’t seem lost on Lady Stark who simply nodded her head. 

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Martenya. Thank you for being so  _ helpful _ .”

Cersanne recognised a dismissal when she heard one and quickly excused herself. “Excuse me, My Lady. Your Grace.”

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked away, settling herself down again some distance away to finish her letter. Unfortunately for her it seemed she wasn’t far enough away to not hear their conversation. 

“I wish you were free to follow your heart. Even if it did lead to a bastard girl from The Reach. She is quite pretty.”

“It’s not like that, Mother. She’s a friend.”

Lady Stark scoffed. “A friend that wears your cloak, Robb. Don’t deny it. If I’ve noticed don’t you think the men have? Surely you’re not so naive as to think there aren’t rumours. You are promised to another. A debt that must be paid.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Robb shook his head. “I know nothing can happen. Isn’t that enough?”   


Cersanne looked down at the cloak Robb had give her, suddenly realising why it had seemed so familiar when he had given it to her. He had given her his own cloak. Her thoughts drifted to how differently she had noticed the men treating her. None had made any crude comments since she had been wearing it. Her face grew hot as it dawned on her why, the thought of them gossiping about her made her head pound. What they must be thinking! And the Frey soldiers, they must think she was Robb’s whore. Or worse that he’d gone back on his word. 

She hurried after Robb and his mother, sliding the cloak from around her shoulders, doing her best to ignore the biting cold of the wind as she held it out to him. 

“I cannot keep this, Your Grace.”

She ignored Lady Stark’s startled expression, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Robb who was staring at her with an expression she was afraid to read.

“It was a gift, Martenya.”

She nodded. “For which I am grateful, _Your Grace_ , but I cannot keep it in good conscience knowing what your men must be thinking when they see me wearing it.”

She heard Lady Stark breathe in softly, but couldn’t bring herself to turn from Robb to see the meaning. 

“Why should I care what the men think? I am their _King_ , they will think what I tell them to.”

She laughed bitterly. “We both know you’re not that kind of king. You’re honourable, and kind, and you made an oath.”

Robb moved towards her, ignoring his mother’s arm on his shoulder, trying to stop him.    


“Your Grace, My Lady. Mistress _Flowers_.” Roose Bolton appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, holding a roll of parchment in his hand, his expression dire.

“Come on,” Robb urged heading in the direction of the tents. “You too, Martenya. We’re not finished talking.”

Cersanne pretended not to notice Lady Stark’s troubled gaze on her as she followed behind them as discreetly as possible. 

* * *

“This cannot be true.”

Cersanne couldn’t find any words and knew they would not be welcome even if she could. 

“We’ve had ravens from White Harbour, Barrowton and The Dreadfort; I’m afraid it is true.”

Lady Stark’s eyes closed in disbelief as her pacing continued. Shaking her head at intervals as she moved back and forth behind her son. 

“Why? Why would Theon-”

“Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores.”

“My brothers?”

Cersanne’s heart was breaking for him. His friend since childhood, betraying his trust, taking the home he had spoken of so fondly. His brothers…

“We’ve heard nothing of them.”

Cersanne reached out for Lady Stark who seemed ready to faint. She was surprised to find the noblewoman grip her arm gratefully rather than pushing her away. 

“But Rodrik Cassel is dead.” She had never known someone deliver so much bad news with so little emotion as Lord Bolton was managing. She supposed there must be a reason the Bolton sigil was a flayed man. 

Cersanne did not know who this Rodrik Cassel was, and while she assumed she might have seen him around the camp, she couldn’t put a face to the name, but news of his death had a clear and profound impact upon both Starks. 

“I told you, never trust a Greyjoy!” Lady Stark’s fingers gripped harder onto her arm. 

“I must go North at once.”  Robb was out of his chair faster than anyone could stop him. Immediately, Lady Stark and Lord Bolton were following him, disagreeing with him, their hushed tones agitated. 

“There’s still a war to win, Your Grace.”   


“How can I call myself King if I can’t hold my own castle? How can I ask men to follow me if I can’t-”

Cersanne had never seen him so upset and it pained her more acutely than she dare let on. She schooled her face into a mask of indifferent sympathy as she tried to listen.

“You are a king! And that means you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“Let me go and talk to Theon.”

“There will be no talk, he will die for this.”

Cersanne felt herself breathe in sharply but neither Lady Stark nor Lord Bolton seemed overly surprised to hear Robb sentence his own friend to death. Lady Stark looked to Cersanne, her expression pained as her thoughts obviously turned to her other sons.

“Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew. Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon. We have the Lannisters on the run. If you march all the way back North now, you’ll lose what you’ve gained.”

Cersanne knew little of strategy but knew he was right. Tywin would never let such an opportunity go to waste. He would take back the lands and spread rumours of the reason for Robb’s return and how much he must fear the Lannister troops to running back to Winterfell with his tail between his legs. 

“My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon’s head.”

Robb’s expression was stony as he listened to Lord Bolton. For the first time since she had met him, Cersanne was actually a little afraid of Robb. For the first time she saw the Young Wolf everyone talked about. 

“You tell your son Bran and Rickon’s safety is paramount. And Theon; I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why. And then I’ll take his head myself.”


	6. More Than I Can Take

“And what did she say?”

Cersanne paused outside the tent. She’d heard word that Ser Alton Lannister had returned from his trip to King’s Landing carrying the queen regent’s response to Robb’s terms for peace. She knew what the answer would be, of course and, from the looks on the faces of the men she passed, they all did. 

“She admired your spirit, Your Grace.”

“And what then?”

She could feel the nerves rolling from her distant relative even without seeing him. “She, uh.”   


“If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, Ser Alton, we’d all hang.”

There was a tense silence for a few moments before Ser Alton found the nerve to speak again. 

“She tore the paper in half, Your Grace.”

Cersanne scoffed, glancing about her to make sure no one had noticed. She had expected nothing less of her cousin. 

“You’ve acted with honour. I thank you for it. Lord Karstark, see that Ser Alton’s pen is clean, and give him a hot supper.”

It was a courtesy Cersanne wasn’t sure would have been reciprocated to a Stark bannerman had the situation been reversed, but she was grateful for the kindness being shown to her kin, no matter how distant the relation. She ignored much of the following conversation, smiling to herself when she heard how the Stark forces had all but run out of holding space for their prisoners.    


“Put him with the Kingslayer for now.”

Cersanne knew a bad idea when she heard one. Even kept as he had been for so many months, Jaime would not miss an opportunity when one presented itself. Surely Robb could see the multitude of ways in which her cousin might use this situation to his advantage. 

“Have your boy watch over them.”

She pressed against the side of the tent as Ser Alton was led away, hiding her face behind her hair, still fearing that he might recognise her. She didn't like to think of the consequences if he did. She ignored the other men passing her as Robb dismissed them. 

“An unsurprising result, don’t you think?” She quipped as she rounded the corner, laughing as Robb dropped the paper he was holding in shock. 

“It’s been a while, My Lady.”

Cersanne had been trying not to think of their last encounter, the uncomfortable conversation that had only been stopped by the timely interruption of Lord Bolton. It had been days and she had still been avoiding him as best she could. “I suppose it has, Your Grace.”

He walked towards her slowly, his smile widening as she stepped back. “Do I frighten you?” 

She laughed. “Do I frighten  _ you _ ?”

His smiled faltered for a second before morphing into a wide grin. You’re avoiding the question.”

“And you’re avoiding the one I asked _you_ when I arrived.”

He shook his head, amusement still lingering in his bright eyes. “In answer to  _ that _ question, no, I suppose I’m not surprised; but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

She laughed, swatting at a stray strand of hair on her face. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. About before,” Cersanne blushed, thinking of how she had behaved. 

Robb frowned, moving the strand of her off her face. “Don’t. You were right-”

“I was rude!” She paused, almost laughing at the shock on his face at her interruption. It had probably been a while since anyone had spoken over him. Not many people interrupted their king after all. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt you.”

His eyes bore into hers. “Please, continue.”

She blinked, turning from him. “You gave me a gift. I was wrong to speak to you the way I did. Your gift really was appreciated,  _ Robb _ .”

She took his hand before she could think better of it. She blushed as he squeezed her handly gently between his in return. 

“If I returned it to you, would you take it as an insult?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He released his hold on her, removing the cloak he was wearing and wrapping it round her shoulders, the heavy weight of the fabric was comforting. “It suits you.”

She laughed. “I think it might be a little big.” She pretend not to notice the way he was staring at her. 

_ He’s not yours, he’s not yours, he’s not yours.  _

She had repeated the mantra so many times it was beginning to lose it’s meaning. _Just one step closer_. 

She blinked, breaking the spell. 

Robb cleared his throat, laughing gently, his breath almost as uneven as her heartbeats. 

“And to answer _your_ original question. No, you don’t frighten me.”

* * *

Later, Cersanne would question the thought process that led her to the pens once more. She had all but decided she wasn’t going to return to Jaime for as long as she was spending time as part of the Stark camp.

“Who did you say your mother was again?”

Cersanne rolled her eyes. Of course she would hear Jaime before she could see him. She continued walking, wrapping Robb’s cloak tighter around her to fight off the biting wind that was whipping her hair about her face. 

“Cinda Lannister.”

Cersanne thought for a moment, trying to put a face to the name, giving up after a while. There were far too many Lannisters to even try to remember them all. 

“Is she the fat one?”

Always so tactful. 

“Well, perhaps she’s gotten a little larger than she-”

“No, no. There’s only one fat Lannister. If she was your mother, you’d know it.”

  
Cersanne felt herself blush on her mother’s behalf. What a claim to fame. The only _fat Lannister_. For a moment she wondered if Jaime knew she was nearby. She wouldn’t put it past him to say such a thing simply to spite her, but as the conversation continued, she supposed he must be so used to saying what he was thinking without consequence that it simply didn’t register to him that he was being unbearably rude. 

“I- I squired for you once, you know.”

And there it was. The desperate need to be acknowledged. Did he really expect Jaime to remember some boy that had squired for him one time? What a poor naive fool. 

“When?”

“The tournament, the day of Willem Frey’s wedding.”

Realisation dawned on Cersanne suddenly. That was why Ser Alton had looked so familiar. She remembered him, a hapless little thing rushing around, desperate to gain favour and attention. 

“I went to Willem Frey’s wedding?”

“You did. Your squire had gotten so drunk the night before that he threw up-”

“He threw up on his horse on his way to the tourney grounds. What was his name?”

_Bryan_. His squire had been called Bryan. Now _that_ Cersanne did remember. Cleos had been so insulted by the behaviour that he had turned a shade of red that was closer to black than crimson. She had feared for Bryan’s life almost as much as she had wondered if it was actually possible for a man’s head to explode when she had seen the alarming shade her brother had turned. 

She heard Jaime laugh nostalgically. “Poor lad. That was my brother’s doing, I seem to recall.”

Cersanne remembered Tyrion offering her copious amounts of wine until her mother had stepped in to stop him. It had only been her begging her mother to not make a scene that had saved her favourite cousin from a severe beating. 

“I remember you. You’d never squired for anyone before.”

“That’s right, I ran up and volunteered. ‘ _Let me, My Lord, let me_!’ My father was furious. Afraid I’d embarrass our family in front of  _ the  _ family.”

Cersanne had almost gotten close enough to see the look on Alton’s face. Even now, it seemed the memory of his father’s ire upset him. 

“You didn’t, though.”

“You really remember?”

She saw Jaime nod his head reassuringly. She had to admit she was quite possibly even more surprised that Alton. 

“You knew when you were needed and when to go away.”

According to her brothers this was quite the unusual gift in a squire. It seemed Jaime agreed with their assessment.

“It’s a rare talent. Most of my squires,” he shrugged. “They mean well but, young men with big jobs, they tend to overdo them.”

“Well, when I think back to that day-”

A Stark soldier appeared suddenly, hushing the pair aggressively before continuing about his business. Cersanne ducked behind another pen, anxious not to be noticed. Once the man had moved on she continued on her way, staying out of sight of both cousins. It was an enlightening conversation. 

“You were saying?”

“I. Never mind; it’s embarrassing.”

She imagined it might be if he was about to gush as much as she expected. 

“More embarrassing that being chained to a post, covered in your own shit?”

Cersanne bit her tongue to keep from laughing. It was a true enough statement. She had been quite impressed by Ser Alton’s ability not to mention the stench. Even from a distance it was no small task to keep herself from gagging.

“I remember _everything_ about that day; your helmet, your horse, the rake lines in the dirt along the list.”

And there it was, the gushing. She rolled her eyes. Poor boy, that one tourney would probably be the highlight of his life and Jaime had barely remembered him. 

“Where the sun was in the sky when you knocked Balon Swann from his horse, and the dent in your shield when you handed it back to me. I’ll remember it all until the day I die. That was the best day of my life. And I remember being on the field after it was over. All the competitors were done, I was the last one out there. But I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t bring myself to go and sit with my family at a table so far on the edge of the feast that you could barely see the bride.”

Cersanne sighed. She had never thought what it must be like to be a member of one of the lower branches of the family tree. Included but not really a part of anything. Family, but not part of  _ the _ family. She had never realised just how lucky she was and yet listening to this boy talking so animatedly, so excitedly about one day in his life, one day that was so insignificant to Jaime that he had forgotten all about it, Cersanne had to admit she hadn’t thought of her nephew’s wedding in a long time and certainly couldn’t remember it in so much detail as Ser Alton did, one day that had clearly meant everything to him, just from getting the tiniest bit of attention from the Jaime Lannister. Cersanne felt ashamed. 

She shook her head, listening with indifference as Jaime told his own story of being a sixteen year old squire. She’d heard the story before. Her own mother had been telling Walder, then only about six years old and crying after Cleos had taunted him for not knowing that a boy that had scarcely seen his sixth nameday couldn't be a knight, that even the great Jaime Lannister had been a squire once, not a knight, and that he had been a terrible one at that. 

It was one of Cersanne’s favourite memories of her mother. The look on Walder’s face as he listened to her, completely enraptured by the tale. Cersanne had only just seen her eighth nameday herself and still dreamed of being a knight rather than a lady, back when such thoughts were still considered innocent enough to be sweet rather than improper, even by her septa. For weeks afterwards she had argued with Walder over who got to be Ser Barristan when they played make believe in the gardens. 

She smiled fondly at the memory.

“Ned Stark, I imagine he made an excellent prisoner right up until the end.”

Cersanne returned her attention to the conversation at the mention of Robb’s father. 

“Not me, though. My life has left me uniquely unfit for constraint.”   


She watched Ser Alton creep closer. 

“And have you thought about-” He trailed off, glancing nervously around them.

“Of course. Everyday.”

“And?”

“Good prisoners breed good jailers, apparently.”

Cersanne was surprised to feel a proud smile growing on her face. 

“The Starks are very careful. There is a way, I think. It wasn’t possible until now.”

Cersanne watched as the two moved closer, the smile dropping from her face as a terrible thought occurred to her. She rushed forward, no longer afraid of who saw her. She had to reach them before Jaime could do what she suddenly feared. 

_ Please, no. _

“You have to die.”

She froze as she heard the rattle of chains and the sounds of dying. She knew before she reached them that there was nothing she could do. She moved to call out as a Stark bannerman walked into the pen, but found no sound would come out.

She watched as Jaime snuck out, pausing to look at her. He raised a blood soaked finger to his lips, winking at her before rushing off into the night. 

Cersanne’s limbs felt heavy as she approached the pen. Her heart pounding erratically in her chest as she looked inside. 

The smell of blood and human waste assaulted her nostrils and she wretched, steadying herself before pressing forward. The body of Ser Alton was _still_ convulsing but she knew from one look that there was nothing she could do for him. 

She looked to the Stark soldier instead. His skin was ashen, an unnatural shade of grey and his eyes stared up into hers lifelessly. 

* * *

When Cersanne woke she found herself staring at the roof of a tent. She sat bolt upright, startled and confused. 

“Gently!”

The voice came from the left of her. She turned in its direction, relaxing slightly at the sight of Lady Stark, watching her with a mixture of worry and exasperation. 

“Gently, _gently_. You’ve been out for almost a day.”   


Cersanne raised a hand to her head, feeling a bump there. “What happened?” 

Lady Stark held out a goblet of water. “Drink. You were found unconscious in Jaime Lannister’s cell. Next to the bodies of one of our men and one of the Kingslayer’s kinsmen. Do you remember how you got there?”

Memories of that night came rushing back in flashes making her feel queasy. “I remember looking for somewhere quiet to finish a letter to my brother, the next thing I remember was seeing Jai- _the Kingslayer_ striking that poor boy with a rock. I tried to alert someone but I-” Her voice shook as tears rolled down her cheeks. “It was too late. There was nothing I could do.”

Lady Stark nodded slowly, pushing the water towards Cersanne’s mouth again. “You’re lucky to be alive.” 

Cersanne nodded. “I don’t think he saw me, My Lady.”

There was a sudden commotion outside the tent. 

Lady Stark looked towards the noise and back at Cersanne, her expression torn. “Stay here.”

Cersanne waited for Lady Stark to leave before standing, her legs shaking as she made her way to the opening of the tent. She peeked out of the gap, gasping at the sight of Jaime being dragged through the cheering crowd.

Cersanne would have flinched as she watched her cousin being beaten but the sight of Ser Alton and the nameless Stark soldier's bodies was seared into her thoughts, returning to the forefront of her mind every time she so much as blinked.  Trying to distract herself from the memory, she watched curiously as Lady Stark stepped between Lord Karstark, who was angrily vowing vengeance for his son, and Jaime. 

“Lord Karstark! This man is our prisoner!”

“This monster killed my son!”

“And _crippled mine_! He will answer for his crimes, I promise you, but not here.”

“I will have his head. And if you try and stop me-”

Cersanne moved forward at the sound of this threat. He dared to threaten the mother of his own king?

“You will strike me down? Have you forgotten me, Ser? I am the widow of your liege, Lord Eddard Stark, I am the mother of your king!”

“Where is our king now?”

Until that point, Cersanne hadn’t noticed Robb’s absence from the fray. She laughed at herself as she scanned the crowds for him. As if he would have allowed them to talk to his mother in such a way had he been there.

“You know very well. He has gone to The Crag to accept the surrender.”

She heard Lord Karstark scoff. “Aye, gone to The Crag, but not to negotiate. He’s brought that  _ bastard bitch _ with him. Don’t think we haven’t noticed that one’s absence.”

“ _How dare you_?” 

Cersanne cringed back from the words, realising belatedly that he was describing her. Was that what they thought? She straightened her shoulders, ignoring the fact that she was in her night clothes as she walked towards the crowd. There were some murmurs from the crowd as her presence was noticed. Cersanne focused her attention of Lord Karstark who had the decency  to look back to Lady Stark when he noticed her attire.

“Threatening my lady is an act of treason!”

It was then Cersanne noticed the presence of the tall woman she had first seen when she was introduced to Lady Stark. If she remembered correctly she had later been introduced as Brienne of Tarth, a former member of Renly Baratheon’s Kingsguard. She seemed a little intense for Cersanne to really want to get to know her, but she was incredibly loyal to Lady Stark and Cersanne had to admire her tenacity. 

“ _Treason_? How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?”

Cersanne risked a glance at Jaime who was watching the exchange with an irritatingly amused expression. 

“I understand your grief, My Lord, better than most, I understand it. But in the name of my son, the King in the North, stand down.”

As Cersanne watched the exchange it struck her that Robb had inherited more than his Tully good looks from his mother. She was exceptionally adept at giving speeches, just her tone alone was enough to make it clear that she would hear no arguments. 

“When your son returns, I will demand this murderer’s head.”

“Wise men do not make demands of kings.”

The look on Lord Karstark’s face at this scared Cersanne. He looked genuinely _mad_ and she knew that mad men did not make wise decisions. She'd heard Jaime's stories of the Mad King's final days often enough.

“Fathers who love their sons do. I will have his head.”

Cersanne let out a shaky breath as Lord Karstark stalked away, she was rather impressed to note that Lady Stark managed to maintain her composure until he was out of sight before closing her eyes, letting out an uneven breath of her own. 

“Thank you for fighting on my behalf, Lady Stark.”

Cersanne didn’t turn her attention to her cousin, closing her eyes against the queasiness that even his voice churned in her stomach. 

“I would have come to your defence but-”

“Take him to the stockades. Bind him with every chain you can find!”

She heard Jaime chuckle softly as he was pulled to his feet. “You’ve become a real she-wolf in your later years. There’s not much fish left in you!”   


Lady Stark turned to face Cersanne as she called out a final order to the men dragging Jaime away. “And _gag_ him!”

She reached out for Cersanne’s hand, pulling her back towards the tent with more force than the younger woman had expected. 

“My Lady, I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay-”

“At least your disobedience served to quiet the rumours about you and my son.”

Cersanne bowed her head. “I don’t mean to invite such rumours, My Lady.”

Lady Stark turned, giving her a calculating look. “No, I don’t think you do. Unfortunately, the men will believe what they want to believe.” 

Cersanne shook her head. “It is so unfair.”

At this Lady Stark smiled sadly. “And just like that you betray your age, child. Little in this world is  _ fair _ .”


	7. Soft To The Touch

Cersanne sat on the moss-covered stump she had been favouring for the past few days, watching as Robb climbed the hill, his pace slow, his expression thoughtful. She listened to the rhythmic sound of his sword hitting against his armour with each step, her breath falling into the same steady rhythm unbidden. 

She breathed in the fresh air, grateful to be away from the encampment, even if it was only a brief respite. “Hello, Your Grace.”

The grin appeared on his face even before he had looked up. “My Lady!”

She stood as he neared, she could have sworn he had grown taller since she had last seen him. It felt like years though she knew it had barely been a week. 

“How was your trip?” She asked, dropping into a quick curtsy that made him raise an eyebrow, before falling into step beside him as he continued on towards the camp. 

“Fruitful.  _ They _ agreed to the terms for their surrender.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’m glad. One less army to fight.”

Robb nodded. “Indeed. The camp continued to run smoothly in my absence?”

Cersanne sighed before filling him in on what he’d missed, careful to leave Lord Karstark’s comments about her out of her retelling. She felt his eyes on her, narrowing slightly as she finished. 

“I suppose my father was right.” He exhaled deeply, his breath coming out in hot plumes against the frigid wind.

“How so, Your Grace?” 

Robb smiled, his thoughts clearly on his father. “He once told me that being a lord was like being a father. I didn’t understand at the time, but now, some of these men. It’s like trying to keep an eye on thousands of children, all of them wanting something different. My father told me he had six children of his own but thousands to worry about. Every single one of them. Even the lowest of the lowborns. I’m responsible for all of them now. They are all mine to protect. Father used to say he woke with fear in the morning and went to bed with fear in the night. I didn’t believe him. I asked him; how can a man be brave if he’s afraid? Do you know what he told me?”

“ _That’s the only time a man can be brave_.”

Robb nodded, his eyes surprised as he regarded her. “How did you know?” 

“I heard my mother say it to my brother once. She told me it was something her brother had told her. Only, I don’t think he put it in quite such poetic terms.” Cersanne smiled. “I think you’d be a good father.”

He laughed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Aye?”

She nodded before frowning. “Your betrothed is a lucky woman.” 

He stopped, brow furrowed as he looked at her. “I don’t want -”

Cersanne looked at the men following a few steps behind them. “What’s her name Your Grace? You never did tell me.”

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Frey, I suppose. I never thought to ask her first name. I’ve never even seen her.”

Cersanne laughed at the expression on his face as the realisation hit him. 

“I’m marrying her and I don’t even know her name! What a wedding it shall be.”

“I’m sure it will be. And you’ll all be very happy. You, her, and the bridge she brought you.”

Robb opened his mouth to speak, jumping at the sound of heavy hooves approaching. 

“Your Grace! M’lady! The Kingslayer, he escaped in the night.”

Cersanne’s heart skipped a beat as Robb turned to her. 

“You said he’d been recaptured.”

She shook her head. “He _had_.”

Robb turned back to the rider. “How?”

There was no response, but the man on the horse looked troubled. Whatever the answer, he didn’t want to be the bearer of the news. 

“ _How_?” Robb demanded again, his voice tight with agitation. 

The man on the horse, she thought his name might be Steffon, but she wasn’t certain, glanced at her warily before returning his focus to Robb. 

“Lady Stark, Your Grace.”

Before anyone could say anymore, Robb was charging in the direction of the camp, ignoring the men calling out to him as they realised what was happening. Cersanne looked at the bewildered and unsure men watching him. She rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll go after him then, shall I?”

She hurried after him, grabbing her skirts in both hands to aid her movement. “Wait!”   


“My own mother!”

She shook her head. “You don’t know what happened. Give her a chance to explain herself before you go making accusations!”

He spared her a withering glance. “You really think they’d come to me with accusations against my own mother, the mother of their king, with no proof?”

She had to admit he was probably right about that. “Well...She must have had a good reason, Your Grace.” 

He nodded. “I’m sure she thought she did too.”

Cersanne’s makeshift boots were not made for such a hurried pace over such uneven terrain. She felt her ankles ready to give out under her, but continued to rush after Robb, eager to make him see sense before he reached his mother. “ _ Robb _ , please.”

His pace faltered but he continued on his way. “Martenya, I know you want to help, but you don’t understand what this means.”

She grabbed his arm. “Then tell me. Help me understand.”

“This will bring discord to the whole camp. There are so many men under my rule that want the Kingslayer’s head, you know that. How am I supposed to ask them to continue to follow me when my own mother has stolen their hopes for vengeance and disobeyed me?”

Cersanne followed behind him in silence for the remainder of the walk, her head pounding as she tried to think of a way to spare Lady Stark the wrath that was sure to rain down upon her from all directions. 

* * *

“Tell me it isn’t true.”

Cersanne followed Robb into the tent, ignoring the glares from the gathered men as she did so. For the moment, she didn’t much care what they thought of her. She looked instead at Lady Stark, the expression on her face as she looked at her son was all the confirmation anyone present needed.    


“ _Why_?”

“For the girls.” The statement was so simple and heartbreaking that Cersanne longed to comfort the tired looking noblewoman sitting in front of her. For the first time it occurred to Cersanne just how difficult the past few months must have been on Lady Stark, as a wife and as a mother.    


“You betrayed me!”

Lady Stark shook her head. “Robb, I-”

“No!”

Cersanne jumped, wincing at the tone and the pain on both mother and son’s faces.

“You knew I would not allow it, and you did it anyway.”

“Bran and Rickon are captives in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King’s Landing. I have five children and only one of them is free!”

“I lost one son fighting by your son’s side. I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain.”

Finally, for the nameless boy she had seen slain at her cousin’s hand. 

“You commit treason because your children are _prisoners_? I would carve out my heart and offer it to The Father if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell.”

“I grieve for your sons, My Lord, but-”

“I don’t want your grief, I want my vengeance.”

“Vengeance and justice are not the same thing,” Cersanne whispered softly.

“And she stole the chance for either from me,  _ bastard _ . So keep your  whore’s tongue silent.”

Cersanne felt the words as if they were a physical slap to her face. She glanced to Robb whose expression hadn’t changed. If the words had had any effect on him, he was doing a good job of hiding it. She shrank back, meeting Lady Stark’s stunned eyes. 

“Killing Jaime Lannister would not buy life for your children. But returning him to King’s Landing may buy life for mine.”

“Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool.” Robb’s voice was soft and even, but his tone was harsh, as cold and unfeeling as Cersanne had ever heard it. “You’ve weakened our position. You brought discord into our camp. And you did it all behind my back. Make sure she’s guarded day and night!”

“Robb.”

“How many men did we send in pursuit of the Kingslayer?”

“Forty, Your Grace.”

Robb nodded. “Send another forty. With our fastest horses.”   


“ _Robb_!”

Without so much as glance back at either of them, Robb walked from the tent, flanked by Lord Karstark and another man whose name escaped Cersanne. 

“Lady Stark, I-”

The older woman shook her head. “No, he’s right. I have weakened our position, but I did it in the name of my children. I would do it again.” 

Cersanne nodded, sitting down beside her. “Lord Karstark shouldn’t have spoken to you as he did, My Lady.”   


Lady Stark laughed, her face tired. “No, he probably shouldn’t have. But he did. The way he spoke to  _ you _ .”

“He's never liked me. Besides, he only said what everyone else was thinking, My Lady. I am a bastard and I fear the whole camp considers me a whore.” The last word caught in her throat, the shame of the thought almost choking her. “I am no whore.”

Lady Stark rested her hand on Cersanne’s wrist. “I believe you, child, but the way you look at Robb sometimes, and the way he looks at you,” she paused, seeming to consider her next words carefully. “It troubles me, Martenya.”

Cersanne blushed. “I know nothing can happen, Lady Stark. I would not see him break his vow to Walder Frey.”

Lady Stark sighed. “This is not the life I wanted for him. Nothing has turned out the way I wanted it to for any of my children. The Lannisters have destroyed my family. Do you know Ned never wanted to go to King’s Landing? He wanted to stay in Winterfell with me, with our family. That’s all he ever wanted. He didn’t want to be Hand. Things might be so different now.”   


Cersanne wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Tell me about Winterfell, My Lady.”   


“I was so frightened when Ned first took me North. I thought it grim and grey. And so very cold. I was used to Riverrun, you must remember. Winterfell is much larger. I hated it at first, all that stone, all that _grey_ ; granite, and grey stone, and iron. Eventually, though, I came to love it as I came to love my grim, grey husband. I was supposed to marry his brother, Brandon, he was always considered the more handsome, but my Ned had a good heart, a _kind_ heart. He built me a sept, you know, so that I could pray to my own Gods.”

Cersanne smiled. “I’d have liked to have met him.”

“Robb’s very like him, not in looks, of all my children only Arya favours her Stark roots. Ned was noble, honourable and believed in justice. He was fiercely protective, a true wolf, of all of us. And he loved us all deeply.”

She nodded, she could see what Catelyn meant when she said Robb was like his father. 

“And your other children?”

Lady Stark thought for a moment. “Sansa is the most beautiful, sweet girl. She’s always been the perfect little lady, except when she sees lemon cakes, I've never known a girl able to eat so many cakes. I always expected her to marry a lord and run her own household, somewhere nearby. She lived in a fairytale, filled with handsome princes, honourable knights and courtly love. I’m afraid she’s probably found the reality quite different. Little Arya, my witty little cub. She always wanted to be outside with the boys, always getting into fights and upsetting her septa.” Lady Stark laughed fondly. “She’s terrible at needlework, but a gifted horsewoman, like her late aunt. I’m told she is like Lyanna in many ways. She’s pretty, not in the same way as Sansa, and she doesn’t know it, but she has such a sweet little face.” 

Cersanne could hear Lady Stark choke back tears. 

“And my littlest pups, Bran and Rickon. Before his fall, Bran was more monkey than wolf. He was always climbing. I swear he was climbing before he could walk.”

Cersanne laughed. 

“He’s such a sweet little boy, always so considerate, always quick to laugh. But he’s stubborn as a mule. He wanted to join the Kingsguard. I was always so proud of him. And Rickon, my baby. He’s still so young, he shouldn’t be stuck up there with Theon sacking the castle. I was told he went on a rampage when he found out Robb was leaving. He’s such a spirited little thing.”

Cersanne watched sadly as tears rolled down Lady Stark’s cheeks. 

“I would do anything to keep my children safe. _Anything_.”

* * *

Cersanne picked at the dry skin on her fingers, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she debated the wisdom of her next move. Before she could second guess herself again she pushed the opening of the tent aside.

“Your Grace, My Lord.” She curtsied, bowing her head in Lord Bolton’s direction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt."

“We’ll continue this later, Your Grace.”

Lord Bolton excused himself, giving Cersanne a calculating glance as he left. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I needed to speak to you.”

Robb nodded, indicating the chair next to him as he sat down. “Sit.”   


Cersanne shook her head. “I’d rather stand, Your Grace.”   


“Sit,  _ Martenya _ . Please.”

With a glance towards the opening of the tent, she did as instructed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth again. 

“About what was said before. What Lord Karstark called you.”

Cersanne shook her head. “He didn’t say anything a thousand other men haven’t been thinking.”

Robb frowned. “He should not have said it. I shouldn’t have let him.”

“I do not need you to fight my battles for me, Your Grace.”

“And I do not need to allow my friends to be insulted in front of me

Cersanne shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. “Please don’t, Robb. What was said was said. I would not like to dwell on it. How are you?”

Robb narrowed his eyes. “How am I? I’ve had to arrest my mother. The Lannisters have my sisters, the man I considered my closest friend has seized my home and my brothers, I’m fighting a war and I don’t know if I should march South or North.”

Cersanne smiled. “So a regular day in the life of a king?”

Robb looked at her, his lips parting. “And what do you know of life as a king?”

“Not a great deal, Your Grace,” She admitted. “But I’ve always imagined it to be filled with backstabbing and difficult decisions. Sorry, that was a stupid joke. I am sorry to hear you so troubled.”

“No. You’re kind to ask at all, I think you’re the only one who has asked me that, besides my mother, since my father was murdered.”   


Cersanne bowed her head as he took her hand. “Please don’t. Nothing can happen between us and it makes the rumours worse.”

Robb laughed. “You say that as if you’d like something to happen. Kings  _ are _ expected to have mistresses.”

Her eyes widened as he grinned. “It’s not funny, Robb.”

“No, it's not. That’s not the kind of king I want to be.”

“What kind of king do you want to be?”

“I don’t know, Martenya. The good kind?”

“Is there such a thing?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Most kings grew up princes, they spend their whole lives preparing for the crown. I was raised to be Lord of Winterfell.”

“I was raised to be a proper lady. I was taught needlework and how to read, to write, I can even speak a little High Valyrian. I can play the harp and dance the latest dances.”

“A well educated bastard.”   


Cersanne blushed at her mistake. “And what of your brother, Jon? Was he not well educated.”

Robb nodded. “Yes, he was, and he was always better than me with a sword. How did you end up here?”

“Perhaps I just grew bored of my charmed existence.”

Robb laughed. “Oh really?”

She shook her head. “My parents, well my mother really, wanted me to see more of the world. Somehow in doing that I ended up here. In a tent with The King in the North.”

“I wonder what you mother would say about that.”

“Ladies aren’t supposed to use that sort of language, Your Grace, especially not in front of a king.”

He laughed. “Maybe not, but we’re friends, Martenya.”

“Are you sure?” Cersanne stood. “The way the men watch us. I don’t think it’s wise.”

“We are friends, Martenya. I enjoy your company, I appreciate your counsel, even when it’s not asked for.” 

Martenya felt the hot tears pooling in her eyes as he rubbed her shoulders gently. “I don’t want to be your friend, Your Grace.”   


He blinked, stepping back from her. “You don’t?”

She laughed, feeling like a fool. “Of course not. It’s too hard. I don’t think I can bear watching you marry the Frey girl.”

Before she could correct herself his lips were on hers. She gasped into the kiss, allowing her fingers to bury themselves in his hair without a moment to consider what a bad idea it was. 

His lips were chapped and rough, but they met hers with a such a sweetness that she couldn’t breathe. This was everything she had wanted and feared. It was everything she knew they couldn’t have.

Her thoughts finally caught up with her actions and she pulled away, her hands moving from his hair to his chest, holding him at arm's length. “We can’t. You’re promised to someone else. It’s not right.” 

He let out a breathy laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. “It felt pretty right to me. I don’t want to marry the Frey girl.”

“Robb.”

"Martenya."

"I don't want you to marry the Frey girl. I want-" 

She never finished her sentence, instead allowing herself to give into her desire as Robb pulled her closer once more. 


	8. Never Enough

The next morning, Cersanne crept from Robb’s tent as silently as she could, darting her eyes round the encampment, praying to every god she had ever heard of that no one had seen her.

When she reached her own tent, wonky and perilously close to falling down, it was still dark. All she could do now was hope that she had made it back unnoticed.

She ran her fingers through the hopeless mess her hair had become, pulling it into a messy plait quickly, ignoring the protests of her scalp as she tugged at it. She spared a quick glance in the cracked mirror she had found in one of the abandoned tents. 

She hardly recognised herself. Her long, blonde hair, one of the rare features that her mother had always complimented her on, was a mess; even the plait she had forced it into couldn’t hide it, nor the thin layer of dirt that was covering it. Her dark brown eyes were wide and wilder than she had ever seen them, but remained mostly unchanged. Her lips, always plump and rosy were chapped and a dull reddish colour. She looked a terrible mess. 

She glanced out of her tent. It was still dark, there was probably enough time to go for a wash in the nearby lake before the men woke. She grabbed one of her dresses, looking for the drab brown one that she usually reserved for trips to the battlefield.

Most of the blood had washed off after a couple of attempts but there were still several stains, especially around the hem. Usually this dress kept the men’s eyes off her, and, today of all days, she didn’t want to invite any attention.

She hurried to the riverside, setting her clothes down on the bank and bracing herself for the icy cold that awaited. 

She eased herself below the gently lapping waves, breathing sharply at the stinging cold that enveloped her. It would have to be a quick wash. 

She scrubbed herself clean, desperately thinking of anything but Robb’s hands on her the night before. What they had done had, at best, been a foolish mistake that simply made the rumours that surrounded them true. At worst, Robb would be considered an oath breaker. The thought of being considered dishonourable would kill him. 

She pulled at her hair, doing her best to remove the worst of the mud and forest debris that clung to it. She ignored the pounding headache the combination of her cruel hands and the icy cool of the water created.

The water was too cold to spend much time in, and, as the sun began to rise, she made her way back to the camp, Robb’s cloak fastened tightly around her shoulders. 

“Good morning, My Lady.” 

She inclined her head in the soldier’s direction. “It’s a beautiful morning.” 

He nodded before moving on his way. Cersanne watched him go, making a mental note to find out his name; to find out as many of the men’s names as she could. There had to be some way to repay those that showed her some kindness. 

There was a loud bang from Robb’s tent making her jump. She turned to look along with the soldier’s around her, cringing when Robb appeared at the opening, his face worried. 

“Martenya!”

She pretended not to hear the relief in his voice as he called out to her.  She ignored the eyes on her as she walked towards him. 

“Your Grace.”

He pulled her into the tent, his hand tight on her arm. “Where were you?”

She sighed, glancing around the tent, the source of the bang becoming clear as she saw one his tables knocked to the floor, its contents scattered. “I went down to the river; to wash. And to clear my head.”

He nodded. “I was worried to find you gone when I woke.”

She sighed, pushing him away gently as he moved forward as if to kiss her, resolutely refusing to look at his bare chest. “Robb, this changes nothing.”

He laughed, rubbing her shoulders gently as he noticed her shivering. “ _Nothing_? This changes everything!”

She shook her head again. “You are still engaged. You swore an oath, Robb. Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross and I would not have you bring his ire down upon yourself or those sworn to follow you.” She extracted herself from his grip carefully, pretending not to see the hurt in his eyes. “Not for me.”

She blinked back tears, ignoring the call of her name as she hurried away, her feet hitting the floor painfully hard as she ran.

* * *

 

Some hours later, after she had cried herself hoarse, she found herself in Lady Stark’s tent, grateful to find the older woman willing to accept her company. 

“You look almost as tired as I feel.”

Cersanne sighed. “I’m afraid I didn’t sleep much last night.” She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, she hoped the accidental implication would go unnoticed. Looking out into the camp, she watched the men going about their business, some fixing broken armour and swords, others carrying feed for the horses. Everyone seemed to have a use; everyone except her. She felt herself stiffen as Robb came into view, talking animatedly to Lord Bolton as he walked. 

She turned to Lady Stark who was watching her son sadly. “He was always a handsome one, even as a babe. I always wished he looked more Stark than Tully, he was to be the Lord of Winterfell after all, but as he grew... Those bronze curls and his bright blue eyes; I wouldn’t have changed him for the all world.”

“His Grace is very handsome, My Lady. He will make the Frey girl very happy to call him husband.” Cersanne smiled sadly as she watched him, shaking her head as she caught Lady Stark's eye. "But I would not wish to name him such."   


The interest of the older woman  appeared suddenly peaked as she turned her full attention to the younger woman. "And what would you name him instead?"   


"Friend." Cersanne’s eyes softened as she watched Robb who turned as if he had felt her gaze upon him. He smiled tightly at her, seeming to excuse Lord Bolton as he made his way over to them. 

“Mother.”

“If you would excuse me, Lady Stark.”

Robb’s mother looked at her in surprise as she stood to leave, her eyes, so like Robb’s darting between the two of them. Cersanne saw the understanding dawn on her as she moved out of sight.

“What have you done, Robb?”

Cersanne stopped, moving closer to the tent, unable to stop herself from listening. Her mother would have died to see her eavesdropping like a common fishwife eager for the latest gossip.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. You can’t have forgotten that Frey soldiers follow you now. Any hint of a scandal and they will take it as an affront to their Lord, to the girl you've promised to marry. You cannot risk a dalliance with a pretty face.”

“It’s not a dalliance, Mother. Not for me. Besides, Martenya has made her feelings on the matter quite plain.”

Cersanne closed her eyes at the barely concealed hurt in his voice.

“That may be true, but the look on her face when she saw you betrays her. _Robb;_ Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross.”

“I know that.”

She heard Lady Stark sigh. “Do you? Because if I know that look half as well as I think I do I would say you mean to do so anyway.”

“I love her.”

Cersanne thought her heart might burst from her chest it was pounding so hard. How she wished it could be that easy, that she could waltz back into the tent and declare her love for him in return.

“ I forget how young you are sometimes. I see you around these men and you’re a man. Then I sit with my son and you’re still a boy, still so innocent about so much of the world. If only it were as simple as _love_. Do you think your father and I loved each other when we married? I had never seen him before so I know how that feels, I really do. I wasn’t supposed to wed him, I was supposed to marry your uncle, Brandon.  _ He _ was so handsome, and tall. Then he died and I married your father. Love didn’t just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years. Stone by stone. For you, for your brothers and sisters. For all of us. It took time, it wasn’t easy but it grew strong. I loved your father and he loved me. I know it’s not as exciting as secret passion, but it is stronger. It lasts longer.”

“And that is what would be in store for me with one of Walder Frey’s daughters? What you and father had?”

“Why not? I know your feelings for Martenya are real and I won’t pretend to think nothing has happened, but you cannot go back on your oath because of one girl. Why couldn’t you find happiness with Walder Frey’s daughter? Because she may not be beautiful?”

“Now you’re arguing just to argue. Because you arranged it.”

“And you agreed to it. You gave him your word. Treat your oaths recklessly and your people will do the same. If your father lived your life for one thing-”

“My father is dead. And the only parent I have left has no right to call anyone reckless.”

Cersanne sighed, watching as Robb stalked away from the tent. 

“I know you’re out there, Martenya.”   


A blush crept onto her face as she returned to the tent where Lady Stark was waiting, a deeply troubled expression on her face. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, My Lady. I’m sorry.”   


Lady Stark shook her head. “I understand your interest.” She sighed. “You must know he means to marry you.”

Cersanne’s legs felt as though they were made of lead. She sat quickly. “He  _ can’t _ .”

Lady Stark grabbed her hand, the strength of the grip surprising Cersanne. “Then you must convince him of this. You heard him, he won’t listen to me. I will not have my son die for his honour the way his father did. Not if I can help it.”

Cersanne shook her head vehemently. “Nor would I. But you saw him, you _heard_ him.”

“Reject his proposal.”

“And break his heart?” Cersanne sighed, already knowing she would agree to do near enough anything to save Robb from himself. 

“To save his life.”

“Better broken-hearted than dead,” Cersanne agreed, ignoring the ache in her chest at the thought of Robb’s face. “To save him,” she whispered. 

* * *

Cersanne had been avoiding Robb all day, eager to put off the conversation she knew they had to have. She had promised Lady Stark, and she wasn’t one to break promises. She sat in her tent, reading the letter she had planned on sending to her brother. She looked at the bare parchment she had set aside.

She had to write to her cousin at least once. Cersei would be seething if she didn’t send at least one letter. What was there to write? Nothing that Cersei would care to hear, and she refused to let her cousin know anything that could compromise Robb’s careful strategies.

She looked at another piece of parchment next to it, covered in harsh scratches from where she had crossed out line after line. She had thought to slip away from the camp that night, leaving a letter behind for Robb to find. Even as she wrote it she knew there was nothing she could say in a letter that would do any good to dissuade him. The stubborn fool was just as likely to ride out after her as he was to let her go and forget what they had shared. 

“Martenya.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling heavily. “Your Grace.”

“Would you join me?”

She shook her head. “That is not a good idea, Your Grace, and I am afraid I have a terrible headache.”

Robb nodded slowly, glancing around her tent. “I suppose here is as good as anywhere.” He moved inside, reaching her before she could say anything to stop him from coming closer. 

“Martenya.”

She avoided his eyes, staring instead at his boots, covered in a thick coat of dried mud. She realised absently she had never seen him in anything but the thick furs of his native north. She wondered what he would look like dressed in the fashions of her home in the fashions Casterly Rock and the rest of the South. 

She shook her head, pushing all such nonsense thoughts aside. “Your Grace, I-”

“Please, let me speak.”

She shook her head again. “There is little point. I fear I already know what you’re going to say, and my own response.”

She didn’t dare risk looking at his face, but even with her obscured view she saw him frown. 

“Fear?”

“Of course fear. I fear losing you to your foolish honour, I fear my own heart and I fear not being strong enough to say what I know I must.”

“ _ Martenya _ . I love you, and I want to marry you. There is nothing you can say to-”

“I’m already engaged!” She blurted before she could stop herself. “I have been this whole time.” 

Finally, she looked up. Torn as to how she should feel when she caught sight of the confusion and hurt on his face.

“Wha- You never mentioned this before.”

She laughed cruelly. “Why would I? I didn’t expect you to fall in love with me!”

“You love me too, don’t act like it isn’t true.”

“Yes!” She cried, anger at the cruelty of the world making her voice crack. “Is that what you want to hear? Of course I love you!”

Robb grabbed her hands, his previous eagerness returning. “Do you love him?”

She met his eyes. “You think I would have gone to bed with you if I was in love with another man? No, I don’t love him. It doesn’t matter. I am promised to another, and  _ I _   will not break that promise.”

“And if our, encounter, has left you carrying my child? Do you really think this man would happily raise another man’s bastard?”

Cersanne pulled her hands from his. “You cannot possibly know that I am with-child. So what if I am? If I leave now I could be married to him within the month. He’d never know.”

Robb’s bright eyes narrowed. “You would and I don’t believe you could live like that.”

“Perhaps not.” Cersanne sighed. “Very well, Your Grace.  _ If _ I am pregnant, I will consent to marry you. If not, you marry the Frey girl.” 

He frowned, considering it, before nodding. “If that’s what you wish.”

“It is.”

* * *

“It is a naive promise, Martenya.”

She bowed her head. “I know, but it has brought us more time to think of an alternative. If we need one; who is to say I am carrying his child?”

Lady Stark sighed. “I hope for Robb’s sake, you are not.”

"As do I, Lady Stark."


	9. Longing

For the past month, Robb had been true to his word.

During the now rare moments they spent together, he kept his hands firmly to himself; almost comically so. If their hands so much as accidentally brushed, he would recoil as if bitten or stung, and he made sure she noticed they were never alone.

It would have been insulting, had she not been so painfully aware that he was only doing as she had requested of him. Cersanne found that she was both pleased, and upset by the change.

 _She missed him_.

Not the intimacy they had shared that night in his tent; she still considered that a foolish mistake; rather she missed their easy, uncomplicated companionship. He might not know the whole truth of her circumstances, but she had shared so much of her life with him; so many of her thoughts, fears, hopes, and dreams with him, and considered him the closest confidante she had ever had. From what she could tell, the feeling had been mutual.

Now, there was a tense energy between them instead, and she hated it. It was even harder to accept that it was her own fault. She had no one to blame but herself. It would have been so easy to leave Robb's tent that night, but she had stayed. 

Worse still was the anticipation she felt radiating from him. He may have been keeping to his word, but she had heard him asking after her on occasion, and their eyes had met across the encampment. He’d thrown her a rueful smile as he’d raked her body with his eyes - not so subtly checking for any changes to her figure.

He wasn’t the only one; Lady Stark had also followed her pretty closely, asking her all sorts of questions that had left her confused and increasingly worried as to what Lady Stark was not telling her about her answers.

Cersanne herself spent the majority of her days fretting over the slightest change in her body. Whilst there was no obvious swelling of her belly, she had been around enough pregnant women to be fairly confident she knew other signs. Each new symptom she noticed felt like a stab to the gut.

Guilt ate at her nearly every day; she knew that many women would be so grateful for the baby she was near certain grew inside her. An even greater number would be thrilled that their child was Robb Stark’s.

If only she had that same luxury.

 

* * *

 

As it had every day for the past two weeks, a wave of nausea crashed over Cersanne as she walked through the camp. She had yet to pinpoint exactly what triggered it, but with all the revolting smells hundreds of men and animals generated, she knew there would be no escaping it.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Robb watching her as she made her way back to her tent. She dropped her hand from her stomach as if it had suddenly become red hot. She plastered a smile on her face, offered him a quick, half-hearted wave, and carried on her way, holding her breath as she willed the rolling waves of nausea to quiet.

She ducked into her tent, grateful to be away from prying eyes as she began to heave. There was nothing but bile for her to expel, for several mornings now she had felt too unwell to eat anything, and keeping any food she managed down had become an impossible task.

“Oh you poor child.”

Cersanne forced herself upright, wiping half-heartedly at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Lady Stark!” She gasped out, biting back another wave of nausea.

Robb’s mother turned to the burly man closest to her. “You may wait outside. Both of you.”

The guards that accompanied her looked at each other uncertainly.

“I can assure you, Martenya and I are not plotting my escape.”

The guards glanced at Cersanne, who raised an eyebrow, before leaving with matching shrugs.

“Robb still has you under guard?”

Lady Stark nodded, pulling up a chair across from Cersanne, and gesturing for Cersanne to take a seat of her own. “Yes. He still hasn’t forgiven me.” There was a heavy silence between them for a moment, before a sigh. “Enough about that. How are you? You looked unwell this morning, and I’m afraid I heard you before I came in.”

Cersanne pretended not to hear the urgency behind the seemingly generous question. “A little nauseous,” She admitted quietly. “When you came in just now, the smell of the horses.” She shook her head. “I’m scared, Lady Stark.”

The older woman smiled gently, the expression not meeting her blue eyes. “What are you afraid of, Martenya?”

She shook her head. “Everything. This child,” her hands instinctively curled against her stomach. “It could destroy everything, and it didn’t ask to be born. I will be blamed. I have ruined everything.”

She felt the sobs building in her throat, threatening to choke her. “I can’t do this to him! I can’t do this to any of you.”

Within moments Lady Stark’s arms had enveloped her. The display of affection took Cersanne off guard enough to quiet her sobs momentarily before they restarted in earnest at the kindness Lady Stark was showing her.

“I never wanted any of this to happen. I swear it.”

Lady Stark smoothed her hair gently. “Calm yourself. Deep breaths, nice and slowly now.”

“You don’t deserve this.”

Lady Stark laughed sadly. “If only everyone in this world got what they deserved. The state of my family should be testament enough to that.”

Cersanne bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Lady Stark. I didn’t mean-”

“I know, Martenya.” She sighed.

“He can’t know.”

There was a soft sigh as Cersanne extracted herself from the older woman’s arms. “ _Martenya_.”

“I can’t tell him. You know I can’t.”

Lady Stark picked up the comb Cersanne had dropped unceremoniously that morning after a solid hour of struggling, and failing, to tame her hair.

Their eyes met in the mirror for a moment as Lady Stark set about her task. As always, Cersanne was momentarily distracted by just how similar Robb’s eyes were to his mother’s. That same, brilliant, bright Tully blue.

Catelyn’s hands were far more practiced at the motherly task than Cersanne’s own mother’s had ever been. The thought of her mother had her tearing up unexpectedly. She didn’t suppose her mother had thought much of her since she had left.

“I won’t do this to you. Let me leave. Please.”

Lady Stark’s hands faltered for a moment, and Cersanne wondered briefly if she was about to be hit round the head with the comb as one of her maids had done when she was a young girl.

“You’re not a fool, Martenya, don’t pretend to be one. Robb would come after you, you know he would. Tell him.”

As if summoned by his name, Robb appeared at the entrance of Cersanne’s tent. “Mother?”

Cersanne bolted from the chair as if it were red hot. “I’ll leave you to talk.”

Robb shook his head. “This is your tent, Martenya.”

Lady Stark nodded as she returned the comb to its previous original place on the table. “I’ll be back later.”

He looked between the two women, his expression suspicious, and, Cersanne fought against another wave of nausea; _hopeful_.

* * *

 

It had been some hours since she had been left alone, and Cersanne feared she would sob herself dry. She felt her throat growing hoarse as the sobs continued to tear from her unbidden.

Her thoughts turned to Cersei. A pregnancy would never have been part of the plan, and Cersanne was not so naive to believe that she would be allowed to raise her child in peace. Whatever the result of Robb’s war, their child would be considered an asset by many and an threat by so many others.

She could only imagine the glee with which her cousin would give the order against her child’s life.

The sobs continued as she gripped the table in front of her - so hard her nails left semi-circular dents in the soft wood. A harsh laugh clawed its way from her chest. She was now the failure her mother had so often believed her to be. A naive little fool who had given into lust and suffered the consequences.

Another thought wormed its way into her head. She had heard tale, from servants that attended her, gossiping as they went about their business, of a special tea. Several of her servants had spoken about how it had saved them from the wrath of fathers and husbands.

Cersanne’s hands moved over her stomach. Could she do such a thing to her own child? To Robb’s child.

She looked out onto the encampment, watching as the men went about their business, laughing and joking amongst themselves. She had to. For Robb, for Lady Stark and for all the men sworn to follow their king.

She crept from her tent, heading for the woods. She could remember the ingredients she had heard, and most of them she had seen growing in the forest that surrounded their latest camp.

* * *

 

The tea smelled foul. Everything about it was screaming do not drink it.

Cersanne laughed sadly, she supposed that was the point. To drink it did mean death; if not for her then for Robb’s child growing in her belly. The innocent victim of her foolishness.

She felt the tears streaming down her face as she pictured the baby. _Their_ _baby_. She imagined Robb’s bright blue eyes, and her blonde hair. She shook her head, banishing the thought from her head.

She had to drink it. For Robb. For Lady Stark. For the men.

The cup was nearly to her lips when Lady Stark appeared. In her shock at the interruption, Cersanne dropped her cup, the hot contents spilling over her legs.

She barely registered the pain the heat brought as she met Lady Stark’s wide eyes.

Her eyes darted to the table, the herbs still spread out as Cersanne had left them, the tansy’s bright yellow flower almost mocking.

 _She knew_.

“Leave us. _Immediately_!”

This time, the guards didn’t hesitate.

As soon as they were gone, Lady Stark rushed over, pulling Cersanne into her arms. She clung to her, blinded by her tears.

“I didn’t know what to do! I can’t! _I can’t_!”

Lady Stark smoothed her hair gently. “Martenya, you have to calm down.”

“I can’t.”

Lady Stark pushed her gently away, wiping her tears with her cold fingers. “That’s quite enough now. We are going to clean you up. And we are going to find Robb-”

“ _No_!”

“I know you want to protect him from himself, and I am grateful that you even tried. He loves you, Martenya, and I know he is determined to do the honourable thing. Even without this baby, he would never have given up.”

“I-”

“Hush now. You have to compose yourself, child. You are going to be his queen.”

Cersanne shook her head. “I can’t do it. I don’t know how.”

Lady Stark smiled. “No one does. Not really, it’s all an act.”

Cersanne laughed through another sob. “Thank you, Lady Stark. For everything.”

“Since I am to be your mother-by-law, you should probably call me Catelyn.”

 

 


End file.
